The Art of War
by l'ombre de tes yeux
Summary: A tale of the Second Occupation: Kira, Dukat, and a plan within a plan within a plan leading to a trap. K/Du in a wonky sort of way. Star Trek and all related concepts and characters are the property of Paramount/Viacom.
1. Part 1: Policy of Truth

**Author's note:** AU after Behind the Lines-ish (s6) – not sure of exact point of divergence because I've mucked around with the timeline a little bit for narrative purposes. Before anyone shouts at me for not sticking to canon – this is fan fiction, so willing suspension of disbelief should be expected to some extent. There is a line, of course, over which only Mary Sues and horrendous clichés await; fear not, I will attempt not to cross said line... but if I do, feel free to vent your displeasure in the form of a review. If the feeling is not displeasure, please feel equally free to vent it.

**Author's slightly less polite note:** I know a lot of people will dislike this because it plays merry hell with the subsequent canon/character development, but I don't care, I'm doing it anyway. Flame away, it's freezing in my house.

Right, now I've written an introduction longer than one of Dukat's speeches, I'd best get started...

**PART ONE: POLICY OF TRUTH**

_**Never again is what you swore**_

_**The time before**_

_**Depeche Mode**_

Kira jerked awake as Dukat finally stopped talking and people began to leave the wardroom. She'd switched off halfway through his interminable pontificating; staying up all last night worrying about how to get Rom out of jail, combined with the ridiculous workload Damar had shovelled onto her, hadn't made for much spare energy. She stood up and saw Dukat coming towards her, an enquiring smile on his reptilian face. She glared at him.

'Major, a word with you, please?'

'I have nothing to say to you and you know it,' she said flatly. Right now she just wanted to get the hell out of this dingy, overheated room and go back to her quarters for some sleep. Or, failing that, take a swing the first Cardassian, Vorta or Jem'Hadar she could reach – and if it was Dukat then so much the better, even if he did chuck her in the brig for it. He raised an eyeridge.

'Maybe not, but I have _plenty_ to say to you. Walk with me a minute.'

He wound his arm through hers, effectively pinning her against him, and steered her firmly in the direction of the door. She shrugged him off.

'Get lost, Dukat! I've had enough of your games!'

'I thought you had nothing to say?' he remarked archly, trying to take her arm again. She snatched it away and he sighed, the picture of sainted patience. Oh, how her fists itched.

'Alright, I won't touch you. But do hurry up, I haven't got all evening.'

He obviously wasn't going to take no for an answer, so she followed him down the corridor, glowering at his back, until he turned off at a maintenance junction and unlocked a door using a lengthy override code. It opened into an abandoned storage bay, currently piled high with broken or unused equipment that nobody had got around to dealing with yet. He relocked the door carefully, sat down on a crate and kicked another one towards her. She stayed on her feet.

'Why are we in here?' she asked suspiciously.

'Because this is one place that Weyoun can't spy on us,' he answered, in the long-suffering tones of one explaining a simple concept to a rather stupid child. She snorted. Dukat getting her alone could only go one way, and she wasn't going to like it.

'What do you want? If this is yet another misguided attempt to seduce me, I'm not interested.'

He laughed, a deep smoky chuckle that was perhaps his one redeeming feature.

'Major, really, I am capable of thinking of something other than you now and then, so don't flatter yourself unduly.'

'Me, flatter myself!' she spat, incensed. 'You're a fine one to talk, you smug, narcissistic son of a – '

'While being abused by you is the absolute _highlight_ of my day,' he interrupted, 'I am a very busy man and I'd appreciate it if we could get to the point.'

'Even if I say no you're going to tell me anyway, so let's just get this over with, alright?'

'Very well. Sit down, make yourself at home.'

She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being eye-to-eye with her but her feet ached from standing up at Ops all day, so she sat. He leaned forward conspiratorially and she had to sit on her hands, such a tempting target he made.

'You may have noticed that the minefield across the wormhole has not come down yet. Now why do you think that is?'

'Because you Cardassians aren't as efficient and technologically advanced as you claim to be?' she shot back, hoping to rile him by insulting his beloved race. He only grinned.

'Very good! And there I was thinking Bajorans had no sense of humour... Actually, I could get rid of those mines in fifty-two hours – but Weyoun isn't aware of that. Neither is Damar. Therefore they have no idea that I'm stalling for time. Waiting for the right moment.'

Stalling for time? Probably so he can gloat as long as possible about retaking the station before the Dominion or the Federation swipe it from him. She only hoped that Weyoun got sick of waiting and replaced him with someone else, preferably in a violent and irreversible manner. Then she saw his expression, realised what he meant and stared at him.

'You're double-crossing the Dominion?'

'Well, of course I am,' he scoffed. 'You didn't expect me to be a mere puppet ruler, did you? You know me better than that by now, I hope.'

She should have expected it. No matter how bad he seemed, he always had something else going on underneath the surface that was ten times worse. Huh. Cardassians. Just when you think you've got their measure and they can't possibly shock you any more, they reveal a whole new layer of deviousness that you never even knew about. She snorted.

'Right, I get it, you're a devious, twisted little puppet ruler just waiting for the right moment to cut the strings and turn on your masters after they've rebuilt your planet for you, not to mention given you back your beloved Terok Nor and roughed up the Federation a little. Very clever, Dukat.'

'Yes, I thought so,' he remarked matter-of-factly, though his eyes gleamed with pride. 'A classic example of Cardassian guile and subtlety, if I may say so myself.'

'Oh, spare me your posturing!' she snapped. 'I couldn't care less about the in-fighting in your cosy little alliance! In fact, I'd be overjoyed if the whole lot of you jumped out the nearest airlock, it would save me the bother of pushing you out myself.'

'Ah, but you haven't heard the best part yet...'

'Dukat, the only thing I want to hear is that you, Damar, the Founder and Weyoun have made a four-way suicide pact, but somehow I doubt it's my lucky day. Now spit it out, would you?'

'As the lady wishes. I'm planning to get in contact with your old friend Shakaar.' Kira frowned, opening her mouth to interrupt, but he shushed her and continued, 'While I find him an unutterably tedious man with no discernible personality, I think we'll agree on one thing: getting rid of the Dominion is a priority. I am not in a position to negotiate with him alone, but if you accompany me in your official capacity as Bajoran Liaison we may be able to come to some sort of... arrangement. Similarly with the Federation, in due course.'

She was stunned. The _nerve_ of the man! To think that he could turn around and demand Bajor's help after all he'd done! It was so unbelievable it was almost funny.

'Bajor allied with Cardassia? You can't seriously believe that you can make all this mess, give the Dominion a toehold in the Alpha Quadrant, then expect us to help you clean it up! To say nothing of the damn Occupation – '

'I would rather have avoided this war, _never mind the Occupation_,' he said in a tone that indicated the Occupation was a discussion for another time, preferably never. 'However, Cardassia was in a terrible state. I needed a plan to get her back on her feet, and that is exactly what the Dominion have done. Originally I would have waited long enough for them to get rid of the Klingons as well, but now the Federation have muscled in that no longer seems to be an option. Terrans do love sticking their noses into other people's business, don't they?'

'Of course the Federation got involved! You invaded their station, what did you expect?'

'Major, just between you and me, I don't see what business the Federation had here in the first place. It's a Cardassian station in Bajoran space. Come on, you know that as well as I do.'

She'd got used to the Federation being there but she hadn't liked it at all, at first. She didn't see what right they had to come in and take over like they were some kind of self-appointed gods' gift to struggling powers, all the while spreading their vaunted morals around as subtly as a bat'leth to the head. Damn it, he was right!

'Huh. I hate to admit it, but you kind of have a point there,' she conceded grudgingly. He grinned.

'I do, don't I?'

'No need to gloat about it!'

'I was not _gloating_, I was merely stating a fact. Anyway, the Cardassian Union would actually prefer to avoid another clash with the Federation, but the Dominion want nothing less than to wipe them out completely, according to Weyoun.'

'So you're switching sides.'

Ah yes, the Cardassian way. Play both ends against the middle then side with the winner, save your own skin and to hell with everyone else. He nodded, unabashed.

'An admirably succinct conclusion, though is that tone of voice really necessary?'

'You are totally insane. Bajor will never ally with Cardassia, never in a million years.'

'You'd rather Bajor became a Dominion world?' he retorted. 'Think about it. This could be our chance to eradicate the Dominion for good and expand into the Gamma Quadrant. In fact, my alliance with the Dominion has provided the ideal opening, because Cardassia is now privy to all the Jem'Hadar and Vorta technical schematics, including the locations of their White refineries.'

'Why do we need to expand into the Gamma Quadrant at all? Why can't we just leave each other alone? The galaxy's a big enough place that we don't have to step on each other's feet all the time!'

'There is no such thing as peaceful coexistence with the Dominion,' Dukat said flatly. 'If we don't destroy them, they'll destroy us – _all_ of us, alliance or no alliance.'

He was, for once, deadly serious. She sat silently, realising what he said was probably true, but still not wanting to concede to such a patently ludicrous scheme – a scheme cooked up by a Cardassian, at that.

'Have you ever played the Terran game called chess, Major?' he asked suddenly. She blinked at the abrupt non-sequitur, but shook her head.

'Nope. Never had much time for games, funnily enough, I've always been too busy trying to stay alive while you people destroyed my planet.'

'Ah, yes, I see why that could have been rather distracting. Well, chess is a game of skill, manoeuvre and outmanoeuvre, a game with one clear winner. In chess, sometimes you have to concede a little territory at the beginning in order to set up the board in your favour... You know, chess is one of the few good things to come off that planet, actually,' he remarked brightly. 'That and their literature.'

What was the idiot on about now? She had better things to do than listen to Dukat wax lyrical about Terran pastimes, none of which she'd ever experienced, nor did she want to. She shook her head.

'Dukat, you've just outlined what sounds like the craziest plan in the history of the galaxy and now you're talking about _literature_? What is the _matter_ with you?'

He waved a hand frantically, cocking his head towards the door.

'Wha– _oh_,' she blurted, belatedly realising that the faint clanging noise was footsteps in the corridor. 'Uh, right. Terran literature. Who's your favourite, then? Prophets, I can't believe I'm asking you this, it's ridiculous!'

'I always rather liked Sun Tzu's 'Art of War,' personally...' Dukat mused, apparently taking the question seriously. 'And Machiavelli isn't bad either, if a touch pedestrian from a Cardassian point of view... Ah, good, they've gone. Where was I? Oh yes. My cunning and audacious plan.'

She snorted disgustedly and a crafty smile appeared on his face.

'You like it, Major, admit it. It's a desperate, heroic struggle against a superior foe. Isn't that what the Shakaar were always about?'

How dare he? Dragging the whole quadrant into his crazy machinations was bad enough, but expecting everyone to like it was utterly unacceptable.

'We weren't about teaming up with backstabbing traitors like you!' she hissed. 'As far as I'm concerned, there is absolutely no reason why Bajor should help Cardassia when all you really want out of it is more territory to conquer!'

'Bajor might not have an expansionist outlook, but all the major powers in this quadrant do. You wouldn't want to oppose the wishes of people like the Romulans, would you? Compared to them, we Cardassians are about as fearsome as Betazoids!'

He said it almost admiringly. Kira's blood boiled and she leapt to her feet, glaring at him. This had gone too far.

'I don't care about the damn Romulans!' she shouted. 'I see absolutely no reason why anyone in this quadrant should go along with this! If you think you can simply pick sides after all you've done and expect us to welcome you with open arms, you're even more deluded than I thought!'

'If we're going to debate the specifics, Major, it was actually Enabran Tain and the Tal Shiar who started all this with their demented attack on the Founders' home planet – which, actually, I think you'll find I had nothing to do with,' Dukat explained, his look of weary patience at her apparent stupidity only slightly marred by the leer he directed at her aggressive stance. 'After that, the Dominion were obviously going to invade either us or the Romulans sooner or later, so I anticipated their move and turned it to our advantage.'

'You don't know that for sure,' she countered, though it sounded hollow even to her own ears. 'They might have just ignored us.'

'The Dominion do not ignore people who oppose them; they either conquer them or destroy them outright. Therefore we must get rid of them, before they get rid of us.'

'Oh, so you think this plan of yours is the answer?' she sneered. 'Mighty big gamble to take with a lot of people's lives, Dukat. But then you never were terribly worried about other people's lives, were you?'

'Major, I hold all the aces!' he snapped, losing his composure for the first time. 'I've got the Dominion's technical information! They have ours too, of course, but if this plan works that won't matter because they'll have everyone else to contend with as well. We lose what seems like a lot at the outset, but, if I may quote myself,' he grinned a little sheepishly, 'everything we have lost, we will regain. And more.'

'Now where have I heard that before?' Kira remarked sourly. He shrugged.

'When you've made as many speeches as I have, it's hard not to repeat yourself after a while. And I'd quite like to remind you that for once I'll be the first to die if this backfires – therefore it is in both our best interests to make sure it succeeds. You need me to keep Weyoun in check, which I can't very well do if I'm dead, now, can I?'

She sat back down. She couldn't win this one: he had her and they both knew it.

'You want to know how Miles O'Brien describes Cardassian tactics? A plan within a plan within a plan, leading to a trap.'

'And he's absolutely right,' Dukat laughed, evidently rather pleased with himself. She'd intended it as an insult, but he seemed to find it complimentary. Cardassians... He leaned forward again, dispensing with his smug levity for a moment.

'The essence of this conversation is that I need you to talk to Shakaar, arrange a meeting with him. Preferably without any Vorta eavesdropping, if at all possible.'

Great. Just who she didn't want to talk to – well, besides Dukat, Weyoun or Damar, of course. She hadn't forgiven Shakaar yet for that time she caught him in bed with his secretary, and the one good thing about this occupation was that she never had to go down to the surface these days. Until now.

'You and your pact with the Founders haven't exactly made that very easy; Bajor's crawling with Dominion 'facilitators'. And what makes you think he'll listen?'

'Major, I have every confidence in you,' he told her soothingly, laying a hand on her knee. She slapped it away.

'The feeling isn't mutual, Dukat. I don't trust you or this plan of yours.'

'That is of course your prerogative. I just wanted you to know what was going on.'

'Understood. Anything else, or can I get on with my evening?'

He didn't answer, so she got up and crossed to the door, aware of his eyes following her, cool blue gaze assessing, calculating, sizing her up. Even from behind she could practically see the little wheels ticking in his head. Still, he hadn't said anything yet... so far, so good –

'Ah, just one more thing, Major,' he interrupted as her hand reached out for the door control. Silently raining foul curses on him for being so predictable, she turned back.

'What, Dukat? Oh, wait, let me guess: you want me to do more of your dirty work.'

'No, I want you to stop doing your own dirty work.'

'What the hell are you talking about?' she snapped. He raised his eyeridges, clearly not impressed.

'Whatever else you may think of me, I'm not stupid.'

'Could've fooled me!'

He smiled humourlessly at her cheap jibe, but his gaze was hot with suppressed anger.

'I know you were the Ferengi's accomplice when he tried to sabotage the computer system,' he growled. 'Don't bother denying it.'

'You've got no proof,' she insisted, though her heart had begun to race. He waved a hand scornfully.

'Your plan was crude, ill-conceived and risky; in fact it had 'Bajoran Resistance' written all over it. You didn't seriously think you'd get away with it, did you? I'm not completely blind, you know.'

'Sometimes I wonder,' she retorted acidly. He scowled.

'Major, the only reason Weyoun hasn't had you and Sisko's boy sentenced to death as well is because I managed to convince him you're more useful to us alive.'

'How _generous_ of you,' she snarled back, trying to ignore the cold slosh of fear down her spine. He had her life in his hands, and it was entirely up to him what he did with it. He knew this, of course, and she wasn't surprised when he moved in for the kill. Angry, but not surprised.

'If your little _resistance cell_ tries anything else, I will be forced to arrest the lot of you myself. However, if you cooperate with me and sort out a meeting with Shakaar, I will try and persuade Weyoun to let Rom off with a prison sentence instead of execution – in the interests of Bajoran-Dominion relations, of course. Am I making myself perfectly clear?'

'Dukat, this is blackmail and bribery all in one!'

And there wasn't a thing she could do about it either. He had her coming and going. Prophets, how she hated him for it! He nodded offhandedly.

'Yes, that sounds about right. But for once, it's not simply revenge on someone who's been a thorn in my side for too long; your cooperation, or lack thereof, could influence the future of this entire war. Call it... extra incentive, if you like.'

Incentive, huh? She briefly considered telling Weyoun about Dukat's plan and watch him try to smooth-talk his way out of the Vorta's eerie-eyed scrutiny. Now _that_ would be incentive. It must have showed on her face, because he threw his head back and laughed at her.

'Going to sell me out to our Dominion friends? My dear, you are positively Cardassian in your deviousness! Who'd have thought you had it in you?'

She gritted her teeth. Right, that idea was out. No way was she stooping to his level, she'd rather die. Which was looking increasingly likely if she didn't find a way out of this mess.

'I expect your decision by 0600 tomorrow morning, Major. I will stop by your quarters before I go on duty; if anyone asks, we're catching up on paperwork over breakfast.'

Well, that was just the icing on the poisoned cake, having Dukat inflict his presence on her that early in the morning without even a raktajino to make her feel vaguely alive.

'I can hardly wait,' she ground out, turning back towards the door. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I want to go off-duty – Damar's had me running around like a slave all day checking your damn cargo manifests three times over.'

'That won't do at all, I'll have a word with him. Oh, and by the way – '

'Prophets, now what?'

He grinned slyly at her, obviously working up a good taunt, and she clenched her fists.

'Please stop baiting Damar; his temper is bad enough without you provoking him all the time. If you really must shout at a Cardassian on a regular basis, my door is always open to you...'

'In your dreams, Dukat!'

'Indeed,' he purred. 'Good night, Major. I await your answer with bated breath.'

'Well in that case, I hope you suffocate,' she spat, smacking the door control and storming down the corridor with the sound of his laughter echoing in her ears. Damn him.


	2. Part 2: Heavy Words So Lightly Thrown

**PART TWO: HEAVY WORDS SO LIGHTLY THROWN**

_**All men have secrets and here is mine, so let it be known**_

_**For we have been through hell and high tide, which means I can rely on you**_

_**And yet you start to recall heavy words were so lightly thrown**_

_**But still I live in fondness of a flying bullet for you**_

_**The Smiths**_

Kira stayed up for hours worrying, the same tangle of thoughts whirling around in her brain until she fell asleep on the sofa still in her uniform sometime around 0200. She was rudely awakened at 0630 by the sound of someone overriding her door controls. As she opened her eyes, yawning and groaning, the door swished open to reveal Dukat and Ziyal, both looking unnaturally fresh for this time in the morning. By contrast Kira was unwashed, still in yesterday's clothes, with yesterday's makeup smeared round her eyes. Even waking up under attack would be better than this; at least the Jem'Hadar wouldn't laugh at her for her less-than-professional appearance.

'You know, it's generally considered polite to knock, rather than just barging in,' she grumbled, running a hand through her untidy hair. Dukat grinned and sat down at the table uninvited.

'Overslept, did we? I'm sorry to wake you, but we did have a breakfast arrangement.'

'Oh sure, help yourself to my replicator credits, why don't you? Make yourself comfortable, we're all _friends_ here,' she snapped, before softening her tone a little. 'Sorry, Ziyal, good morning.'

Ziyal smiled shyly at her before muttering something to Dukat, which she didn't quite catch but it made him laugh. Kira directed a fierce glare at him on her way to the bathroom. When she came back, feeling somewhat fresher but no less annoyed, Dukat and Ziyal were sat comfortably at the table eating breakfast and talking about nothing in particular, the picture of domesticity. Kira dropped into a chair beside Ziyal and reached for a moba fruit, scowling at Dukat.

'Well, Major, I believe you have an answer to the proposal I made last night,' he announced as he poured her a glass of rokassa juice. She ignored it; the smell of the stuff made her want to throw up, which he knew all too well, and she didn't miss his sly grin as she pushed it away with a grimace. She'd agonised for hours about what to say to him, but the way he simply waltzed into her quarters and offered her food from her own replicator cemented it in her mind. He had absolutely no right to entangle her in his stupid plans, no matter how wonderful he made them sound. And as for Rom... well, she was a Resistance fighter, wasn't she? Springing people out of Cardassian slams was something she'd had a fair bit of practice at over the years. She'd find a way to free him without having to side with Dukat.

'Damn right I have an answer,' she said coldly. 'I think you're lying. This is some elaborate trap so you can win me over, then betray me and laugh at me for trusting you. You're just trying to get one over on me, and I won't let you. I've had enough of your games.'

He set his plate aside, looking faintly disappointed but not entirely surprised.

'I see. Well, in that case, I'll just have to let Weyoun know there will be a few more attendees at the execution in three days' time. Don't say I didn't warn you.'

Ziyal gasped, staring wide-eyed between them. Kira looked coolly at Dukat. She knew the score.

'Fine. I'd prefer to die fighting for what I believe in than sell out to you. Go ahead, lock me up.'

She stuck her wrists out across the table, as if waiting to be handcuffed. Dukat looked at her intently for a long moment, something like sadness on his face, then went to tap his communicator. Ziyal leapt up and knocked his arm away, sending her plate clattering to the floor.

'Father, no! Don't do it!' she cried. Dukat rounded angrily on her.

'Ziyal, stay out of this! Tell me, Major, what do you believe in? Apparently it's good enough to die for, so I'd be _very_ interested to know what it is.'

Kira laid her hands flat on the table and leaned close to Dukat, close enough to smell the scent of his skin and the oil he used on his hair. She looked into his eyes and spoke very distinctly.

'A free Bajor. Free of the Dominion, free of the Federation, and most of all free of _you_. That's what I believe in, and I am willing to die for it if I have to.'

Dukat also leaned in. They were nose to nose across the table, staring at each other.

'And I'm telling you how to achieve that _without_ dying, if you'd only listen for five seconds without letting your vengeful streak obliterate all your common sense!' he exclaimed savagely. 'There is far more at stake here than our old animosity, and if we ever want to get anywhere we have to swallow our pride and work together, not against each other! Why, _why_ can't you see that?'

His voice was slightly pleading by the end, but Kira was unsympathetic, a fierce and entirely Bajoran anger radiating off her. How dare he talk to her about not seeing things for what they were?

'I guess a few million deaths at the hands of people like you altered my perspective a little!' she spat. Dukat sat back with a sigh.

'Major, your continued refusal to cooperate will not only fail to reverse a single one of those regrettable deaths – and before you interrupt, yes, I _do_ regret them – it will also cause a great deal more suffering! If you'd rather condemn all those people to Dominion enslavement simply to satisfy your desire for revenge on me then so be it, but I think that's a remarkably blinkered view of the situation. I have a feeling most of this quadrant will agree with me.'

'Now you're dumping all the responsibility on Bajor again, just like the Occupation!' Kira fumed, getting up and striding around to his side of the table, stabbing a finger at him. 'It wasn't your fault that all those people died, it was ours for refusing to comply with your wishes. It wasn't your fault that Bajor got strip-mined to within an inch of its life, it was Central Command's fault for setting unrealistic targets. Now it's not your fault if the Dominion win, it's ours for refusing to go along with your stupid plans, right? I've had enough of this, Dukat! You can't blackmail me!'

Dukat got to his feet and gripped her by the shoulders. She tried to throw him off, but his hands were too strong. He spoke quietly compared to her rant, but with no less conviction.

'I have no desire to see you executed, but you leave me very little choice. I will not let you and your warped sense of justice stand in the way of this quadrant's best hope for victory, and I will not let you sacrifice your own people just to spite me.'

Kira's rage boiled over; she backhanded him full across the face and wrenched out of his grip.

'Get out, Dukat,' she hissed, pointing at the door. Dukat looked coldly at her, a darker grey patch rising on his cheekbone where she'd slapped him.

'I don't want to see Bajor become a Dominion world any more than you do, so I suggest you open your eyes and see the bigger picture,' he said evenly, only a slight shake in his voice to betray his anger. 'And I suggest you do it quickly, or you will die and a lot of people will share your fate. Come along, Ziyal, it seems the Major has some serious thinking to do.'

He turned around abruptly and stalked out of the room. Kira jerked her head at Ziyal.

'Go on, you heard him,' she snapped. The girl went to Kira's side and began to clear up the plates.

'Please, Nerys,' she said quietly. 'He's right.'

'Of course _you_ think he's right, you're his daughter!' Kira snorted. 'But I've known him longer than you have. He's got something up his sleeve, he always does.'

'Not this time. He's serious about this, trust me.'

Kira was torn between regret and anger. She knew how much Ziyal loved Dukat, but she couldn't for the life of her work out why. She sighed.

'I do trust you. But I don't trust _him_, that's the problem.'

'What if he's right? Are you so sure he's wrong that you're really ready to die for it?'

'Ziyal, you don't understand. Your father's tried this kind of thing a lot of times and it's never ended well. I'm not going to compromise myself for him, not again.'

Ziyal took hold of Kira's arm and looked into her face with imploring, glassy eyes.

'Nerys, I'm begging you, don't make me choose between you and him! I don't want to lose you.'

Kira's heart twisted and she put her arms around Ziyal, hugging her tight for a minute.

'I don't want to lose you either,' she said honestly. 'I really don't. But this is something I have to do my way. Now go on, your father's waiting.'

She pushed her gently in the direction of the door but Ziyal stood her ground, hands on hips and a stubborn tilt to her jaw that proclaimed every inch of her Bajoran heritage.

'I know Bajor and Cardassia have done some horrible things to each other in the past, but that shouldn't make you enemies forever!' she insisted. 'You can work together and get something good out of it, I know you can!'

Her face was so hopeful that Kira could hardly bear to shoot her down, but the girl was living in a dream world. She shook her head wearily.

'No, Ziyal, we can't. We never have.'

'Oh?' Ziyal exclaimed, eyes blazing suddenly. 'And what does that make _me_, then? An abomination? A freak of nature?'

'No, wait, I didn't mean – ' Kira began, realising exactly what she'd just implied, but Ziyal was beyond that, her face screwed up in fury.

'I thought you could see past all that, but obviously I was wrong!' she shouted. 'You're just as blind as everyone else, and you'd rather die than open your eyes and look at what's right in front of your face! Prophets, Nerys, why do you have to be so _stupid_?'

Her voice cracked on the last word; she turned on her heel and fled, sobbing. Kira swore and hurried after her.

'Ziyal, wait – ' she called, but Ziyal was already gone. She went back into her quarters, saw Dukat's empty glass and hurled it against the wall with a crash. It didn't make her feel any better.

'Now what do I do?' she asked the empty room despairingly. There was, of course, no answer.


	3. Part 3: Ready For It

**PART THREE: READY FOR IT**

_**There's no change, the sun goes down**_

_**And I'm ready for it**_

– _**The Stills**_

All through her shift, Kira agonised over what to do. Somewhere, deep down, she knew Dukat was probably right, but every instinct she had was screaming that she'd regret it forever if she sided with him. It sounded far too much like all those empty promises he'd made during the Occupation, two-faced platitudes about _working together_ and _building a better future_ when what he really meant was letting the Cardassians trample all over Bajor until there was nothing left. But then Ziyal's face would rise up in her mind, those wide blue eyes filling with tears, and she'd waver. Then her Resistance-fighter side would take over and she'd clench her fists, swearing by the Prophets that she'd never give in. Then she'd think about Bajor under Dominion rule: ancient temples turned into Jem'Hadar breeding grounds, parks dug up for parade squares, whole villages flattened to make way for White refineries and cloning facilities and munitions plants. Bajorans, dirty and starving, forced to labour in factories and shipyards producing weapons for use against the rest of the Alpha Quadrant, watched over by eerie Founders and smug, obsequious Vorta. The Bajorans had been enslaved before and she'd vowed to never let it happen again if she could help it; the fact that Dukat now seemed to have the same aim was the bitterest and strangest of ironies. She thought about Rom in his prison cell, scared and alone, awaiting execution at the hands of Weyoun for a crime he'd only agreed to participate in at her suggestion. She wondered dimly if this was what went through collaborators' minds when they chose to work for the Cardassians. She'd always hated collaborators; she thought they were spineless, unprincipled cowards who'd turn on their own people for a bit of extra food and a new set of clothes. But what if the stakes were higher than food and clothes? What if the stakes were the freedom of the entire Alpha Quadrant? Did she really have any choice but to work for that freedom using any means possible, even if those means came via Dukat? Oh, it rankled deep in her soul, but she had to admit Bajor needed all the friends it could get; with the Federation still so far away and so beleaguered, they weren't likely to be much help. As for the Cardassians, they were in an even more dangerous position, if the reports about Dominion activity over there were to be believed. It would take a miracle to untangle them from the Founders' clutches and if Dukat's plan proved to be that miracle, unlikely as it sounded, then who was she to deny all those people their freedom – even if they were Cardassians? An old Terran proverb Miles had once told her sprang to mind. _Better the devil you know_. And Dukat certainly was the devil she knew.

Damn it.

She swallowed hard on the wealth of horrible emotions that came flooding up like bile, a queasy mixture of fury, helplessness and self-loathing, and climbed up the stairs to what she would forever think of as Sisko's office. She could hear Dukat and Damar in there; Damar sounded furious, Dukat merely snappy and tired. She squared her shoulders and pressed the bell, reminding herself that she was only doing this because she had to. Not because she wanted to. She was doing this for Bajor. Not for him, not for Ziyal, not even for Sisko and the Federation, and certainly not for herself. The door opened.

'Major,' Dukat greeted her coolly from behind his desk. Damar curled his lip in his customary sneering grimace, which she returned in kind before turning to Dukat.

'Have you got a minute?'

'Certainly. Damar was just leaving,' Dukat announced with a pointed look at the other Cardassian.

'But sir, what about...' Damar objected, then fell silent under Dukat's glare. Kira would have grinned at his spluttering protests if she'd felt better.

'_Thank you_, Damar, that will be all for now,' Dukat said firmly. Damar directed a truly ugly scowl at Kira before stomping out of the office. The door swished shut behind him and Kira had to fight down the urge to run; she felt hemmed in and trapped by her decision, and the walls of the office seemed to close in on her as she sat down across from Dukat.

'Well, Major, I assume you've been doing some thinking?'

She nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak.

'And...?' prompted Dukat. Kira froze, had a brief moment of last-minute panic, then shrugged, schooling her features into their customary hard-nosed impassivity. No choice. Remember that, Nerys, you're doing this because you have no other choice, she told herself. He was very still, very intent as he awaited her answer, as if he were listening with his whole body, not just his ears.

'And I've made up my mind. I'll go along with your idea. For now.'

The tension between them suddenly rubber-banded as a broad smile appeared on his face; not a calculating smile, not, strangely, the smile of one who gloats over his adversary's defeat, but the smile of a man who has fought and won, and accepts it with a hint of surprise – of humility, even. She shook herself free of the unwelcome stab of camaraderie that rose up in her. Dukat, _humility?_

'Major, you have no idea how glad that makes me. I'm delighted to hear I can count on your support. This is a brave new day for both Bajor and Cardassia, indeed...'

'_However,_' Kira interrupted tartly before he could start on one of his long-winded speeches, 'if I even think for a moment that you're betraying me, I'll tell Weyoun about your plans. Is that clear?'

'But of course, Major,' Dukat replied smoothly. 'It goes without saying that I will do the same to you if the need arises. Fair's fair, after all.'

He leaned back in his chair and picked up Sisko's baseball, a thoughtful look on his face.

'Hmm... there's a pleasing kind of symmetry to that arrangement, wouldn't you say?' he mused. 'It's really rather elegant, actually. I must thank you for suggesting it.'

'I'm just doing what I have to, Dukat. Don't expect me to like it. Or you.'

He shrugged and tossed her the ball which she caught absent-mindedly, not liking the parallels his action had with Sisko in his more relaxed moods.

'Now, how about getting that meeting with Shakaar sorted out for me? Speed is of the essence, as I'm sure you're aware. Damar's forging ahead with his field tests on the mines, and it's only a matter of time before he figures out what you and the Ferengi were up to.'

She hefted the baseball in her hand for a moment, then smiled grimly and flung it at him with all her strength; it bounced off his shoulder with a painful thwack and sailed into a corner. He winced and pressed a hand to the sore spot.

'What was _that_ for?' he complained, but there was a hint of a grin playing about his mouth.

'It was a reminder that I'm not doing anything until you get Rom off death row, mines or no mines.'

She knew she was taking a big risk, but he himself had indicated that they were beyond the level of commander and subordinate. If that was true, she'd use it; she needed all the weapons she could get against him. He stared open-mouthed at her for a moment, half in anger and half in admiration, then burst out laughing. She relaxed a little as he looked at her almost fondly.

'Oh, Major, you do drive a hard bargain! Very well; I'll talk to Weyoun as soon as I get the chance.'

'Then I think that about covers it. Oh, no, one more thing.' She swallowed hard. 'It's about Ziyal.'

'Go on, I'm listening.'

'I said... some things to her earlier that I shouldn't have done. Would you, uh, tell her I'm sorry?'

It was a hard admission for her, particularly in front of him; Ziyal had supported his views and now Kira was apologising to her, she was effectively apologising to him as well, which she didn't like at all. He studied her for a moment without any trace of mockery in his eyes, only a friendly and apparently genuine solicitude. It was almost worse than if he had laughed at her. Why did he have to be so complicated? He was supposed to be her enemy, pure and simple, without any redeeming features. And, more to the point, why did she even want him to have redeeming features?

'I shall be sure to pass the message on,' he promised. She nodded stiffly.

'Thank you. I'll get back to my post now.'

She stood up and turned towards the door, feeling a bizarre sense of relief wash over her, coupled with the intense desire to escape from his knowing, too-sharp eyes.

'Major, would you care to cement our new... _relationship_... over dinner, by any chance?' he asked casually. She rolled her eyes. For all his capriciousness, he could be so predictable at times. She found the thought didn't irritate her quite as much as usual, and she idly wondered why.

'Dukat, I already had breakfast with you, I think that's quite enough for one day. Besides, people might start to get suspicious if we seem too friendly all of a sudden.'

Too right, and she'd be the first to suspect. Prophets, what the hell am I doing, she wondered. And what if it works?

'True enough. Never mind; perhaps some other time, then?'

'Don't count on it,' she retorted, but there was little heat in it. She retrieved the baseball from the corner and tossed it back to him, slightly less hard than last time. He caught it neatly.

'I can tell I'm going to enjoy working with you, Major,' he remarked with a smile as she left.

Alone in his office, Dukat allowed himself to sigh with relief. He now had to haggle with Weyoun, which was always a dismal prospect, but having Kira on his side for once, however grudgingly, more than made up for that. However, he could foresee Damar becoming a problem, yet another item to add to the increasingly long list of things that gave him a headache. Damar was overly idealistic about Cardassia's potential against the Dominion, and overly contemptuous of anything Bajoran, to understand what was afoot. If he wasn't careful, words such as 'treachery' and 'betrayal' would get bandied about altogether too freely for his liking, and with Damar's temper being what it was, words would quickly turn to blows and worse. That would not do at all. Cardassians do not air their dirty laundry in public, certainly not when 'public' includes Weyoun. He would have to tread very carefully indeed with Damar on one side and Kira on the other, not to mention Weyoun and the damn Founder breathing down his neck and Starfleet baying for his blood. He rubbed the bruise on his shoulder that the baseball had left. It hurt more than he cared to admit... but oh, that woman! She'd be the death of him one day, he knew it. And what sweeter way to die? He would have to thank Ziyal later for making Kira see sense. For now, however, an unpleasant encounter with Weyoun awaited him. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. The Dominion had been useful, there was no denying that, but he'd be the first to dance on their graves after the indignity of having to be their puppet over the last year. With that in mind, he put on his most ingratiating smile and made his way to Weyoun's impromptu office in the wardroom. He'd show the little toad who the real puppet was.

Kira scowled as she walked down the corridor past Odo's quarters. He'd been holed up in there for three days straight, no explanation for why he let her and Rom down, not so much as a response to his comm. Damn it, what the hell was going on in there? She was sure that female Founder was doing something to him, corrupting him and poisoning his mind against her. He'd promised to be her shield against Dukat and the Dominion, the one person she thought she could rely on in all this mess. Now he'd turned his back on her she'd been forced to go along with Dukat's plan – and Prophets only knew where that would lead. But what could she do, when friends became enemies, and what about the enemy of your enemy? Oh, how she hated it! Back in the Resistance, they all knew who their foes were, they knew what to do, and nothing could get in their way. It wasn't exactly a happy time, but things were clear-cut; she knew where she stood and what the stakes were. Now everything was turned upside down and inside out, she felt herself lost in the maze of shifting allegiances and tortuous plots, the mines hanging in the background like a million little ticking time bombs turning the station into a pressure cooker of sweaty palms and prickling necks. She was unable even to talk to anyone about it and get a fresh perspective. She'd never needed Odo's unclouded, objective judgement more than now, when she couldn't have it. And Dukat, damn him, was in his element; the situation was as Cardassian as they come, and she could tell from the delight in his eyes when they'd spoken earlier that he was intending to work the circumstances to their fullest. She'd have to watch him closer than she'd ever watched anyone else before. Another Terran proverb, which her life seemed to be full of these days, summed up the situation in a few words. _May you live in interesting times._ When she'd first heard it she thought it was a blessing, but actually it was intended as a curse. Well, things couldn't get any more _interesting_ than this, that's for sure. She would pray for guidance, but it was times like this that made her wonder whether the Prophets were listening at all – or if they ever did, blasphemous as the thought was. Perhaps they were trying to show her something, but she couldn't work out what. She had a feeling that if she didn't work it out quickly, things would get out of hand. And when Dukat was involved, out of hand _really_ meant out of hand. He was too clever by half and too dangerous by at least two-thirds. Pity she couldn't eavesdrop on his meetings with Weyoun, find out what he was really up to...

She stopped short. _She_ couldn't eavesdrop, but maybe someone else could. Someone intelligent and discreet, with a good eye for detail. Someone whose presence wouldn't cause too much trouble. Someone like...

Yes, someone like Jake Sisko.

A pang crossed her heart at what she was about to do – he's _the Emissary's son_, for Prophets' sakes – but she knew it was the logical choice. Good as Quark was at listening in on things that didn't concern him, she didn't trust him not to blab it all over the place – and even if he kept it to himself, the idea of being in his debt for anything didn't bear thinking about. Leeta was trustworthy enough, but she was simply too flighty to manage something like this without panicking and blowing her cover. And besides, what business would she have with Dukat or Weyoun? Ziyal was the only alternative, but Kira couldn't stand the thought of how hurt she'd be at going behind her father's back, even if it was in a good cause. She was certainly clever, and hanging around with Garak should have taught her a thing or two about keeping her mouth closed and her ears open, but she was far too close to Dukat. It had to be Jake. He could even explain his presence in the meetings as his journalistic duty to get an accurate account of the war. She went back to her quarters and left a message for Jake telling him to meet her at Quark's tomorrow night for a perfectly innocent-sounding drink, then got into bed, feeling a little easier in her mind but hating herself no less. This is war, Nerys, she told herself as she tried to get to sleep. These are interesting times.


	4. Part 4: It's Just That It's Delicate

**A/N:** According to Wikipedia it's Marc Alaimo's birthday, so I guess that means happy unofficial birthday to Gul Dukat.

**PART FOUR: IT'S JUST THAT IT'S DELICATE**

_**It's not that we're scared, it's just that it's delicate**_

– _**Damien Rice**_

Jake was on time, for once; it seemed the seriousness of the situation had impressed itself on him, though he greeted Kira with his usual sunny smile which reminded her so much of his father. She thought about Sisko and the rest of the crew, and wondered if the message had got through. Then she wondered if Dukat knew about that. She sure hoped not; it could prove to be her trump card against him, even better than going to Weyoun. She knew the Vorta would have no qualms about disposing of him – after all, what's a puppet ruler but so much hot air, especially when it's as long-winded as Dukat – but the idea of siding with anyone from the Dominion was even more repugnant than siding with a Cardassian. Better the devil you know, indeed.

'Come on, let's head upstairs,' she muttered to Jake. 'I don't want Quark getting in on this.'

'In on what exactly?'

She quickly shushed him as Damar and a bunch of rowdy Cardassian soldiers pushed past a gang of Jem'Hadar and loudly started ordering drinks. Jake and Kira went up the stairs and sat at a table in the corner, overlooking the main floor. Kira kept a careful eye on the Cardassians down below as she and Jake sipped at their synthales.

'Alright Jake, I'll keep this short, just in case Damar comes over and starts any trouble. I want you to be a reporter,' she said brusquely. Jake looked puzzled and a little indignant.

'I already am a reporter!'

'No, no, you don't understand. I want you to get a _first-hand account_ of what's going on between Dukat and Weyoun. Up close and personal, if you see what I mean.'

Understanding dawned on Jake's face and he broke into a grin.

'Aaah, right, I gotcha. You want it in writing or what?'

'No, don't write it down! Just, you know, keep your eyes and ears open; with Odo out of the picture,' she grimaced, 'we need all the information we can get. And since you're already doing reports for that news service, you've got a ready-made excuse to sit in on their meetings.'

Jake nodded, a glimmer of excitement mixed with fear in his dark eyes.

'You've got a plan, haven't you, Nerys?'

She shrugged, aching to talk to somebody about the tangle she'd got into with Dukat, but she knew she couldn't risk it, not while she was still so unsure about it herself.

'Let's just say I'm working on a way to get Rom off death row.'

'How? You gonna bust him out of there?'

'Not exactly. I can't really talk about it, but it's allowed Dukat to get me in a real headlock. He wants me to get in touch with Shakaar. What I don't know is why, so I need you to find out what he's planning – and you've got to do it fast, I can't put him off much longer.'

Jake laid a hand on her arm comfortingly, suddenly looking much older than his nineteen years.

'You can count on me,' he told her. She smiled sadly. He was too young for this. But then, she'd been a lot younger than him when she started fighting. She patted his hand.

'I know I can. But listen – don't take any risks, alright?'

'I won't, don't worry. I don't want to end up in a cell like Rom. What happened with that, by the way? I thought Odo was supposed to – '

'Yeah, so did I,' Kira said heavily. 'Obviously I was wrong.'

She took a quick look over the balcony, more to avoid talking about Odo than anything else, and saw Damar coming up the stairs at the head of a group of officers.

'You'd better go, Damar's coming,' she hissed. 'Let me know, won't you?'

Jake nodded, then slipped out of his chair and disappeared out the back door. Kira took a minute to let out a deep breath, then put on her blankest poker face as Damar approached.

'What, no _plotting_ with your little Ferengi friend? Oh no, I forgot, he's been arrested,' he sneered as he came up to her table, flanked by a couple of big, dim-looking soldiers who sniggered stupidly at his remark. Kira rolled her eyes.

'I thought you'd be too busy gloating over your success with the minefield to come and annoy me,' she said wearily. 'Honestly, haven't you got _anything_ better to do?'

Damar's face screwed up into a glare, which quickly changed to a kind of fearful respect as a hand descended on Kira's shoulder and she twisted round to find Dukat standing there.

'Actually, he does have something better to do – don't you, Damar?' Dukat said silkily, his hand now beginning to stroke the back of her neck. She shrugged him off. She was mildly thankful to him for rescuing her from Damar and his cronies, but he didn't need to know that.

'Uh, sir, yes sir,' Damar stammered. Dukat smiled thinly.

'Well, I suggest you go and do it. I need a moment of the Major's time.'

Damar stared at the pair of them for a minute, then a hard, cold look appeared in his eyes and he left without further incident, the two soldiers following at his heels. Dukat sat down in Jake's vacated chair and set a padd down on the table. His leg brushed against hers as he settled himself, and she was sure it was deliberate. She couldn't avoid a shiver.

'I've got some good news for you,' he announced, taking a sip of Jake's half-finished ale then grimacing in disgust and quickly pushing the glass away.

'You mean you've reconsidered that suicide pact with Weyoun?' she deadpanned. He sighed.

'Major, the best part of a good joke is knowing when to stop telling it. Here, read this.'

He slid the padd across the table to her. It appeared to be a prisoner transfer warrant from the penal colony on Bajor IV, filled in with Rom's details. It also had Weyoun's thumbprint on it; the only thing missing was Dukat's authorisation.

'Weyoun was in a particularly benevolent mood this afternoon, luckily for your friend Rom. Once I sign this, I believe my part of our little bargain is fulfilled. Which leaves yours... Tell me, have you spoken to your former paramour yet?'

'Haven't had a chance, he's been busy,' Kira dissembled quickly, ignoring the jibe about her failed relationship with Shakaar. In truth she'd only tried calling once, before breaking off in a lather of fear and disgust at what she was doing. Luckily, the automated response system had informed her that Shakaar was in a meeting and would not be available. Dukat shook his head reprovingly.

'Major, that's simply not good enough.'

'It's hardly my fault if he's in some damn meeting all day!' she protested. 'I'm not leaving a message for just anyone to read, I want to talk to him personally. Besides, if we're going to do this by the book, you haven't technically fulfilled your obligation until you sign it – '

He held up a hand to silence her, then picked up the padd and pressed his thumb on the imprint with a slight flourish, raising an eyeridge at her.

'You were saying?'

'Fine,' she said heavily. 'You've kept your part of the bargain. I need more time for mine.'

'Evidently the Vorta are keeping Shakaar very busy down there. Still, I'm a little disappointed. It seems I'm going to need some sort of compensation, since we are doing this by the book, after all. Persuading Weyoun involved a considerable amount of blandishment, and I think I deserve something in return for having to sweet-talk the little creep. Seems only fair, hmm?'

She knew when he was angling for something, and as long as he held this bargain over her head she had no choice but to comply. Knowing him, it wasn't likely to be anything pleasant.

'Alright, what do you want, Dukat?' she ground out. He smiled disarmingly.

'Nothing too dreadful, I promise. Just your charming company at dinner this evening.'

'Prophets, you never give up, do you? How many times do I have to say it before it gets through that thick Cardassian skull of yours? I. Am. Not. Interested!'

'Nevertheless, you owe me, and I'm _very_ interested. Also, Ziyal's making hasperat.'

'Oh, alright!' Kira conceded unwillingly. 'If I refuse you'll only twist my arm into something else, so what the hell. I'll come, but just for Ziyal's hasperat – _not_ for the endless stream of overly personal questions and bad chat-up lines which I'm sure you'll bombard me with all evening.'

He laughed delightedly and she clenched her fist under the table. Prophets, she couldn't even insult him without him finding it funny! It made her want to explode. He inclined his head to her.

'I shall attempt to restrain myself – but we Cardassians do love to talk, as you know. Shall we?'

'What, right now?' she asked blankly as he stood up and offered her his arm. He shrugged.

'It is dinner time, isn't it? And I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Of course, if you want a little time to change into something more suitable...' He grinned lasciviously and she bristled.

'I'll come as I am, thank you very much!'

'I thought you might say that.'

She didn't take his arm and he didn't force her to, which was a mercy, but she still felt far from comfortable strolling down the Promenade with him as if they were old friends, and she resented the way his steps carried him somewhat closer to her than necessary. It was almost a relief when they arrived at his and Ziyal's quarters, but then she thought of the last time she'd seen Ziyal. As if he was reading her mind, Dukat looked closely at her for a second.

'Don't worry. She forgives you.'

He opened the door and allowed Kira to precede him into the room. Ziyal was busily stirring a large clay pot on the hot-plate, wisps of hair coming down out of her elaborate braids and curling in the spicy steam. She looked up and smiled at them, a young, sunny smile full of nothing but love.

'Father! Nerys! Come and sit down, the food's nearly done. There's spring wine in the cooler.'

'It smells wonderful, Ziyal,' Dukat said appreciatively, a look of such obvious affection on his face as he went to greet his daughter that Kira could almost forget who he was for a moment. Ziyal swatted him away playfully with a spoon as he approached her.

'Don't come any nearer, you'll ruin it!'

She and Dukat both laughed. Kira stared at them, confused and feeling very much the outsider.

'Just something Naprem used to say,' Dukat explained, an odd wistful look in his eyes. 'She claimed my mere presence in the kitchen was enough to make hasperat curdle. Must be my _acerbic_ wit.'

He chuckled at his own joke and Ziyal snorted derisively.

'She meant you were a terrible cook, and she was right! D'you remember that time you tried to make retamba stew? It was the worst thing I've ever eaten!'

'I'd prefer not to think about that too closely,' Dukat muttered. 'It was not one of my finest hours.'

The idea of Dukat being wrong-footed by something as simple as retamba stew was absurdly amusing to Kira, and she told him as much, unable to avoid a snigger. Dukat shrugged.

'I have many talents, but cooking is not one of them,' he admitted with a smile.

'Neither is modesty – but then, we all knew that already!' Kira shot back. He smirked, but for once it didn't annoy her; perhaps it was something to do with Ziyal in the background, defusing the situation, reminding Kira that she wasn't on duty now and neither was Dukat. In fact, as soon as he stepped into the room he'd seemed to shed his domineering, arrogant Prefect-of-Terok-Nor persona and become merely Ziyal's father, a father who loved his daughter, teased her, laughed with her. Oh, it was confusing, seeing how his domestic life was so... normal.

'When you two have _quite_ finished,' Ziyal remarked pertly, 'dinner is ready.'

She set the steaming pot of hasperat and a plate of kava pancakes on the table. They sat down and began to eat, Dukat and Ziyal immediately launching into a lively debate about some Cardassian artist Kira had never heard of. She kept quiet, instead observing her two dinner companions, the room and the food. She still found it odd that Dukat ate Bajoran food by choice, but then, she figured, he did live on Bajor for a long time. Nevertheless, going native wasn't precisely the Cardassian way – and neither was entering into a long-term and by all accounts loving partnership with a Bajoran woman, apparently loving enough to raise a child in. She wondered about it as she ate the hasperat, which was extremely good. Was this how it was with Naprem? Did they eat dinner together, laugh together, do normal family things? Or was she on the edge, sidelined, always an outsider? It seemed so peculiar to think that a Bajoran would ever find common ground with Dukat, much less anything like love, but from what Ziyal had told her of her childhood, it seemed a happy one. Now, however, it was not Naprem here. It was her, and things were very different, yet to anyone looking in who knew nothing of recent history, the three of them would seem like a family: Cardassian father, Bajoran mother, mixed-race daughter. That last thought stopped her dead with her glass of wine halfway to her mouth.

'What's the matter? It's not poisoned, you know,' Dukat teased as he noticed her. She scowled.

'I know it isn't. I was just thinking.'

'What about?'

'Nothing,' she muttered, quickly finishing her wine to avoid having to say any more. Dukat tilted his head enquiringly.

'Really? It didn't look like nothing.'

'Just because I'm having dinner with you – not like I had much choice, either – doesn't mean you get free access to the contents of my mind, alright?' she snapped. Oh, this was a bad idea; seeing Dukat in his off-duty mode only made her forget who he was, made her start to warm to him, until she caught herself doing it and felt like a traitor. He was her enemy. They may be working together, which in itself was risky enough, but that did not mean she should relax for a second. Last time she'd found herself beginning to trust him, he'd been in the middle of negotiating with the Dominion! No, Nerys, she told herself firmly, don't give him an inch, he'll only use it against you.

'I'm sorry,' he said softly. 'I meant no offence.'

There was an awkward silence, then Ziyal got up to clear the plates, smiling brightly.

'I made alva crumble for dessert, if anyone wants some,' she announced. Kira nodded, relieved, and the conversation thereafter drifted onto safer subjects; she and Dukat still took pot-shots at each other, but there was little real anger in it. Once or twice he even made her laugh. Ziyal looked delighted that they weren't at each other's throats for once, and she had just begun to discuss her latest painting when the comm interrupted.

'Damar to Dukat.'

Dukat sighed, genuinely upset at having his evening disturbed, and tapped his communicator.

'Yes, what is it?'

'We've just received word from the long-distance sensor arrays that several Federation and Klingon fleets are gathering at Starbase 621. They could be planning an attack on Terok Nor.'

'I see,' Dukat said thoughtfully. Then his eyes lit on Kira, and there was a question in there that was half an answer already, a mixture of exasperation and perverse, slightly incredulous delight. Kira willed herself not to react. Not an inch, Nerys.

'Have you informed Weyoun, Damar?'

'The Vorta knows,' Damar confirmed, indicating with his snide tone exactly what he thought of the oily little diplomat. Neither Dukat nor Kira could avoid a smirk.

'I assume he wants to see me: tell him I'm on my way. Dukat out.'

He cut the comm off and turned to Kira with a predatory grin.

'Well well. You have been busy, haven't you, Major?'

'What's that supposed to mean?' she snapped, though she knew it was pointless. He scoffed at her.

'Oh come on, we both know that _somebody_ must have warned the Federation about the minefield and it wasn't me, Damar or Weyoun. Congratulations on getting your message out undetected, by the way. How did you do it?'

'Morn.'

A scant inch, but she gave it. There didn't seem much point in denying it. Dukat nodded.

'Very clever. That won't work a second time, though.' He stood up. 'I'm afraid I have to leave you ladies now – duty calls, as usual – but don't go anywhere, will you? It seems we have a great deal to talk about, Major.'

As the door swooshed shut behind him, Kira let out a long sigh and buried her head in her hands.

'I'm dead, Ziyal. It was me that sent that message. Me and Jake,' she groaned. Ziyal's eyes widened.

'Nerys! You mean the Federation are going to come back? Ooh, my father won't like that at all...'

'No. I expect he'll probably kill me.'

'I won't let him!' Ziyal said stoutly. 'I stopped him once, I can do it again. We both know he doesn't want to kill you, he'll jump at any excuse.'

Kira shook her head, cursing herself for this evening, for allowing herself to get drawn in by the illusion of his false promises and his easy charm. He was a killer, he'd proved that over and over again, and he'd stop at nothing to realise his demented plot. She should have known better.

'I've screwed up his plans, Ziyal. He'll turn me over to Weyoun and I'll be executed. I've got to get out of here,' she decided, getting up. Ziyal laid a firm hand on her arm.

'Nerys, stop panicking! Doing something rash will only make it worse for yourself!'

'That sounds like something _he_ would say!'

'My father may be a little misguided sometimes, but he's not stupid. He won't kill you. Just wait for him to come back and we can sort this out. I promise he won't hurt you.'

Kira knew she couldn't believe Ziyal, no matter how much she wanted to; she knew that promise would not be honoured. Her heart bled for the girl. Dukat would kill her, and Ziyal would finally realise just what kind of a man her father was. Ziyal gripped Kira's hand in both of hers.

'I promise, Nerys. Just stay here, it'll be alright.'

Kira fought down the throat-tightening bubble of paranoia and forced herself to stay, though she managed to appropriate a phaser from Dukat's desk and hid it up her sleeve when Ziyal wasn't watching. If it had to come to this, let no one say Kira Nerys faced death unprepared.


	5. Part 5: A Question of Time

**A/N:**Enjoy this update while it lasts, because my brain will probably explode by the end of the week due to college finals and it'll take me a couple of weeks to clean up the mess – so don't expect anything more for a little while. On that tasteful note, I'll shut up and let you get on with it.

**PART FIVE: A QUESTION OF TIME**

_**I've got to get to you first, before they do**_

_**It's just a question of time**_

_**Before they lay their hands on you**_

_**And make you just like the rest**_

_**I've got to get to you first**_

– _**Depeche Mode**_

Dukat hurried down the Promenade and jumped in the turbolift, torn between annoyance and sheer dumbfounded admiration. Gods, that woman! The _nerve_ of her! She'd just made his already rocky position with Weyoun even worse, but it didn't matter; if she'd managed to communicate with the Federation without anyone on the station finding out – including him, he remembered with a tinge of chagrin – then maybe they had a chance to open negotiations right under Weyoun's nose. The idea of siding with the Federation was distasteful to him, but there was no way anyone was going to bring the Dominion down without inside help; they'd just keep throwing their ships away, and with each battle the chance of salvaging any of this mess would grow slimmer. A weak Federation and a strong Cardassia was obviously the ideal position, but he'd have to time it absolutely perfectly. He had to find a way to get the Jem'Hadar fleets away from Prime, because if he turned on Weyoun while Cardassian airspace was choked with them, they'd retaliate instantly. Another thing to think about, as well as the mine-field, Weyoun, Damar, Shakaar, Kira, trying to talk to the Federation and keeping an eye on the Founder, all at the same time. He sighed. Things were getting decidedly complicated. But then again, Cardassians were complicated people, and they used something the Founders with their bizarre sense of order would never understand: the element of surprise. Yes, the timing would have to be flawless for it to work, but if he pulled it off, the Dominion wouldn't know what had hit them. He permitted himself a smirk at Weyoun's probable reaction when he realised he'd been suckered, then straightened his face and entered Ops.

The Founder was there; she'd apparently deigned to untangle herself from the gelatinous clutches of Odo for a minute or two, seeing as this was something of an emergency for the Dominion. It was technically an emergency for Cardassia as well, but Dukat didn't like thinking in those pessimistic terms. Nothing was an emergency, it was merely a change in circumstances which must be analysed in order to wring the maximum possible benefit out of it. There was always an advantage, you just had to know where to look. The Terrans had some stupid proverb about clouds with silver linings, but he refused to acknowledge the merit of such sentimental rubbish. He hurried over to the tactical console where Damar, Weyoun and a few Jem'Hadar were gathered, the Founder hovering in the background with an inscrutable little smile on her unformed lips.

'Ah, Dukat, how nice of you to join us,' Weyoun remarked condescendingly. Dukat felt his hackles rise, but forced a look of contrition onto his face.

'Sorry I'm late, I was eating dinner. What's our situation?'

'Here we have long-range scans of the fleet's build-up around Starbase 621,' Damar pointed out. Dukat studied the display. Alright, so the Federation were coming back, and they were angry. And there were rather a lot of them. Dukat knew the capabilities of Terok Nor like he knew the back of his hand, and it wouldn't last long against a fleet that size, so they'd have to call in backup. In that case, if he had a little help from a few Cardassian ships whose captains owed him favours, then... his plan would tie itself up very neatly indeed without having to involve Shakaar and his tedious government at all. It was a risk, but it was worth taking. He stroked his chin mock-thoughtfully.

'It seems they're gathering to attack us. How many ships could we safely pull from Cardassian space to bolster our defences?'

As soon as he said it, he knew it wasn't going to work. Damar looked belligerent, Weyoun incredulous, the Founder merely... blank. As usual. Weyoun recovered first.

'Have you forgotten about our reinforcements on the other side of the wormhole?' he enquired archly. 'Your vaunted Cardassian memory seems to be remarkably troublesome when it comes to situations like this, Dukat.'

Dukat bit back a scathing retort. What he wouldn't give to knock the little git into the middle of next week, then see who had the memory problems... He summoned his best diplomatic charm and smiled easily, spreading his hands in one of the formulaic gestures of goodwill that he'd learned from statesmanship classes. Sometimes it was only those lessons that prevented him from decking Weyoun, the Founder and as many Jem'Hadar as he could reach, and he clung to them now. If lying with your mouth isn't enough, lie with your whole body. If that's not enough either, then nothing will be. Thank the gods for Madame Sarel and her public speaking lessons.

'Not at all. I was merely suggesting that it may be prudent to have some back-up in case the mine field isn't deactivated in time. Not that I doubt Damar's abilities, but surely it's best to be prepared?'

Weyoun came close to him and look him hard in the eyes. Dukat held his ground, matching the Vorta's pale-blue scrutiny with his own unblinking stare. It went on for a long time, and Dukat idly wished he was Garak: that man could make a career as a professional eyeballer. Oh, wait, he already did... He suddenly caught himself thinking something positive about Garak and hurriedly stopped.

'You're hiding something, Dukat,' Weyoun said, at last dropping his eyes. Dukat blinked.

'Me, hiding something? Weyoun, you wound me deeply! What could I possibly have to hide from my _allies_ in the Dominion?' he dissembled suavely. 'Why, keeping secrets from people who have given so much to Cardassia would be simply _reprehensible_...'

Damar brought his head up sharply at this, but Dukat tried not to notice as he let the language of diplomacy (lies, waffle and florid platitudes) do the talking. Just as he was beginning to get into his stride, the Founder's flat voice cut across him with a curt demand for silence. He stopped abruptly, allowing himself to look indignant. That was another thing he hated about the Dominion; absolutely no style. No appreciation for the fine art of rhetoric. Still, if I had only Vorta, changelings and Jem'Hadar for company, I'd probably end up taking a vow of silence or something, he thought glumly. The Founder glided over to the table.

'The minefield _will_ be neutralised in time, and the ships around Cardassia Prime _will_ stay there,' she announced. Weyoun and the Jem'Hadar immediately bowed their heads in acquiescence; Damar opened his mouth to protest, but Dukat shook his head. The Founder obviously had no idea what kind of a gamble she was taking here – he certainly wouldn't have done it, if he were in her shoes – or perhaps her innate sense of order precluded flexible planning. Either way, her ruling appeared to be non-negotiable; if that was the case, so much the better for him. Weyoun turned to the Founder with his eyes shining like glycerine.

'The Founder is wise,' he fawned. Damar looked disgusted at this blatant adulation. Dukat caught his eye for a moment, his mouth quirking slightly, and the two Cardassians shared a covert grin. It seems he had an opportunity to bring Damar in on this, now he just had to orchestrate it correctly. If Damar could be persuaded that he hated the Dominion more than the Federation or the Bajorans, it might just work. Weyoun subtly managed to shut Damar out of the circle by angling his body just so as he turned to Dukat.

'Is there anything else we need to discuss?'

Dukat toyed with the idea of objecting to the Founder's ruling simply to rattle Weyoun's cage, but he decided against it; the Vorta already suspected something wasn't quite right, and it wouldn't do to give him more fuel for his fire. He inclined his head.

'I can't think of anything.' He pointedly faced his first officer, shutting the Founder and the Jem'Hadar guards out as Weyoun had done in reverse. All about body language – something the Founders, without a permanent solid body, would never be able to understand. 'Damar? Any suggestions?'

'No sir.'

'In that case I shall go and finish my meal. Weyoun, I must thank you again for your wise decision regarding our saboteur. Your mercy will go a long way to strengthening relations with both the Ferengi Alliance and the Bajoran people.'

Ah, the subtle science of dropping people in it from a great height. He nearly laughed aloud at the mortified look on Weyoun's pasty countenance as the Founder turned on him imperiously.

'I was not aware of this, Weyoun,' she intoned. Dukat took this as his cue to exit. Watching the Vorta squirm would be a sight for sore eyes, but he didn't want to get caught up in the mud-slinging. He cocked his head to Damar and they left Ops, both breaking into identical wicked smirks as soon as the turbolift was far enough out of reach.

'Are you thinking what I'm thinking, sir, if I may speak freely?' Damar asked, his normally kanar-dulled eyes flaring with amusement. Dukat smiled. Speaking freely was somewhat of an impossibility among Cardassians at the best of times, but Damar's counsel as first officer was valuable, so Dukat saw no reason to censor him unduly. He shrugged.

'I doubt it. But you may be interested in what I'm thinking...'

'I'd like to know what's going on between you and that Bajoran lunatic, if that's what you mean.'

'Bajoran lunatic?' Dukat asked coldly, relishing the stab of fear that crawled across Damar's face. 'I assume you mean Major Kira, who is a most intelligent and resourceful woman. But I agree, she is inclined to be a little... irrational. Let's just say she has seen the merits of cooperating with me, for now at least.'

'You've got a plan, haven't you? I knew it!'

'Damar, I'd have thought _that_ went without saying. However, _certain people on this station_,' he said meaningfully, 'are beginning to suspect that things are not quite as they should be. I will have to proceed with caution. Tell me, how are your field tests on the mines going?'

'Slowly, sir. I'm working flat out, but I can't seem to get rid of the self-replicating mechanism.'

Dukat shut his eyes for a minute, trying to find the correct words, then he laid a hand on Damar's shoulder briefly and told the turbolift to halt. It lurched to a stop between two decks, hopefully out of range of too many sensors.

'Damar, listen. This plan of mine... I imagine you know what the objective is?'

'Bringing down the D– ' Damar blurted. Dukat quickly shushed him.

'I just want you to understand that we'll need to use every resource we have in order to pull it off, and that includes allies in unlikely places. I can't say any more at the moment apart from that you _have_ to trust me.'

'How unlikely are we talking here, sir?' Damar asked suspiciously. Dukat sighed.

'Right now, that's still open to negotiation. I can't risk telling you, but you will know when the time comes. Just wait for my signal and all will be made clear.'

'What about the minefield?'

'What do _you_ think about the idea of three thousand more Jem'Hadar ships rampaging around the quadrant?'

Damar's face clouded as he went over the options in his mind. His eyes grew worried, then angry, then relieved, then finally very guarded. Dukat smiled knowingly.

'It seems we understand one another.'

'This is a dangerous game you're playing, sir,' Damar warned. 'If it goes wrong, they'll destroy us.'

'Trust me, Damar,' Dukat reassured his first officer, looking him steadily in the eye. 'I know what I'm doing. I will not let Cardassia fall. You just need to follow your orders. Understood?'

'Yes sir,' Damar answered after a long, uncomfortable pause. Dukat nodded, then ordered the turbolift to resume. He studied his first officer from under half-closed eyelids as they made the rest of the journey in silence; for all his drunken surliness, Damar actually had a very promising intellect under there. Dukat only hoped he could persuade him to use that intellect, rather than lashing out at the first sign of trouble and bringing everything tumbling down around their ears. He'd have to watch him carefully. And if he proved to be unsuitable, there'd be nothing for it but to get rid of him. Dukat hoped it wouldn't come to that, but he'd do what he had to. This was war, and if you can't trust your own at least slightly more than your enemies then you've picked the wrong side.


	6. Part 6: A Game of Touch and Go

**A/N: **Well, isn't that just typical. As soon as I get some free time after finishing college, my computer goes and gets a virus which wipes half my hard drive. Lovely.

Anyway, apologies for the long delay between chapters, but I should be posting more regularly now.

**PART SIX: A GAME OF TOUCH AND GO**

_**And while I am the one who waits here**_

_**We all know that it's all just a game of touch and go**_

_**Because it's all so touch and go**_

_**So let's go**_

– _**John Foxx**_

Dukat was back far too soon, the familiar snaky shape of a Cardassian in armour intruding on Kira's vision and kick-starting all her Resistance paranoia. She was in the serpent's layer, and the serpent was hungry. She tensed herself in readiness as he came through the door. He was smiling.

'Major, a very amusing thing just happened in Ops,' he remarked, leaning casually against the edge of the table. 'It seems Weyoun neglected to inform the Founder of the change of plan regarding our Ferengi friend. She wasn't too pleased with him.'

She didn't answer. He frowned.

'Well, I found it funny. I almost wish I had stayed to watch him getting the third degree...'

'Dukat, if you're going to kill me, stop talking and get on with it,' she snapped. He looked astonished for a second, then burst out laughing.

'Kill you? My dear Major, nothing could be further from my mind,' he exclaimed, still chuckling. 'Why would I want to kill you? I thought we were working together!'

'I betrayed you, didn't I? Oh, right, you're going to turn me over to Weyoun instead. Well, go ahead and try it.'

She reached for the phaser in her sleeve and levelled it at him, hearing Ziyal suck in her breath. He looked at the phaser, over at his desk, then back to her, shaking his head disparagingly.

'Major, you have a weapon and I am unarmed. Making _me_ out to be the threat in this situation is quite simply ludicrous. Put it down, I'm not going to hurt you.'

She gripped the phaser in her hand. She had him at gunpoint. She could end all this now and walk away. His plans would fall apart, the Dominion would get flattened by the Federation, and things would go back to normal. She'd be hailed as a hero on Bajor. That thought was nearly enough to make her fire right then and there. Her finger twitched on the trigger and Ziyal made as if to rush forward, but Dukat forestalled her with an upraised hand, waving her away into the corner.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you, Major,' he said calmly, turning back to Kira. 'My death will not help you in the slightest. In fact, killing me will only make our enemies' victory that much easier. If that's what you want then by all means pull the trigger, but I doubt you'll like the consequences.'

She looked hard at his face. He seemed almost preternaturally calm; there was no fear in his eyes, his hands were not shaking. She remembered he'd survived at least ten assassination attempts by the Resistance. If he wasn't afraid, she had no power over him. For a moment she imagined the trigger squeezing under her finger, the blast of orange light, his body curving as it fell. The end of Dukat. She wondered what that would mean; a long-awaited revenge for Bajor, certainly, but if it was ripped away instantly by the advancing Dominion, what use was it? Could she bear the weight of that responsibility if it all went wrong – the knowledge that things could have been different?

'You don't want to kill me, Major. You need me. You won't win this war without me.'

'I should kill you for _starting_ this war!'

'We have already established that _I_ did not start this war, it was Tain and the Tal Shiar. In any case, what difference does it make who started it? Killing me will only prevent you from ever finishing it. Now look me in the eye and tell me you're ready to take that chance.'

No. She couldn't take that chance. Once she would have, gladly, but things were no longer the way they used to be. The chance was no longer hers to take. She lowered the phaser to the floor and saw his shoulders relax slightly.

'There, that's better. After all, we have a lot to discuss, don't we? And discussions are so much easier without all this violence.'

He was playing with her, she knew it. She nearly scrambled for the phaser again at the arch edge in his voice, but Ziyal had already collected it, locking it back in the desk as she quietly left the room. Dukat watched her go, smiling fondly, then went over to the cabinet and returned with two glasses of kanar. He passed Kira one which she took in nerveless fingers. Oh, he was up to something, he had to be. Maybe the kanar was poisoned. Yes, that's more his style, sneaky and underhanded. She felt a stab of fury as she remembered Tekeny Ghemor and dumped the glass down on the table, disgusted. He downed his kanar in one long swallow. Well, perhaps only hers was poisoned. He sighed and knocked that back too. Alright, not poisoned. He must be hiding something else.

'I see you haven't quite brought yourself to trust me yet,' he said reproachfully. She snorted.

'No I haven't! What's your game, Dukat? I know you're playing with me, but I don't know what you want. Either kill me, turn me over to Weyoun or tell me what's going on, I don't care which, but stop being so damn vague! I'm sick of it!'

'Major, there is really no need to go on the offensive. I'm not a threat. Look, no weapons.'

He held his hands out, showed her the empty holster on his belt, even turned out his pockets to show he had nothing hidden in there. She snorted. He didn't need a weapon to hurt her. But she would give him the benefit of the doubt, if only to find out what he was playing at.

'Besides,' he pointed out, 'I just saw Weyoun; if I had denounced you, he'd be here already.'

A flush crept over her face; in all her paranoia, she hadn't even thought of that. Some of the fight went out of her and she let her muscles relax, but she didn't miss his smirk at her embarrassment.

'Alright. What's going on?'

'First things first, let's take a little walk and calm down, shall we?'

He raised his eyes at the corners of the room, indicating that they were probably being observed or listened to; few things were private on this station, after all. Kira made a mental note to find and destroy any monitoring devices in her own quarters. She also made a mental note that Dukat was up to no good at all, and refusing his invitation sounded like the wiser move.

'No, Major, this is not a ploy to lure you out of the room and strangle you in a dark corner,' he remarked wearily as he noticed her suspicious expression. 'It is also not a ploy to lure you out of the room and _rape_ you in a dark corner. Really, I'm not the monster you think I am.'

'No – you're worse,' she shot back. He was already holding a threat over her head; he didn't need to force her into a dark corner, he could simply blackmail her in broad daylight. She nodded briskly.

'Fine, let's go for a walk. But I'm taking this with me,' she growled, going to the desk and seizing the phaser out of it. She instantly felt better with it in her hand. He smiled sadly at her.

'If you really think it's necessary, Major, then by all means take it, though it's a shame you feel that way. I'd like to believe that we are beyond such petty power struggles.'

'You can believe what you want, but I'm not stupid enough to trust you further than I can throw you, Dukat. Last time I did that, you were whoring yourself to the Dominion!'

She realised that admitting there actually was a time she'd even thought about trusting him was a big mistake, as his ridged face split in a delighted grin. He shrugged expansively.

'Well, since I have already explained why I joined the Dominion, I feel I can take that at face value.'

She slipped the phaser up her sleeve, in the curve of her hand, careful not to let him see where she was hiding it, and followed him out of his quarters.

She wasn't surprised when they ended up in yet another out-of-the-way set of disused quarters, these empty of furniture and thick with dust. Dukat promptly sat down on the floor, crossing his long legs, and waved a hand for her to join him. She stayed standing. The sensation of looking down at the top of his head, coupled with the comforting weight of the phaser up her sleeve, was an oddly pleasurable one. She noticed he had a few strands of grey in his thick black hair, carefully combed back to disguise them. The notion that he was no more immune to the ravages of time than anyone else made her feel slightly peculiar. She'd always assumed that he'd just carry on forever, or meet a sudden and painful death at Bajoran hands – not grow old like normal people.

'The Federation are gathering their fleets. It looks like they're planning to come back here,' he announced without preamble. Her first emotion was relief; she'd never been more grateful to hear that a bunch of humans were on their way to sort out the mess she'd found herself in. Once Sisko was back, Dukat and all his convoluted schemes would be sent packing, Weyoun would hopefully be vaporised, Odo would snap out of whatever bizarre and hateful trance the Founder had put him in, Rom would be let out of jail...

'Don't celebrate too early, will you?' Dukat remarked snidely, cutting into her thoughts and reminding her that she'd got ahead of herself. 'We've still got the minefield to contend with yet. If that Jem'Hadar fleet gets through the wormhole, the Federation and Bajor are sitting ducks.'

'And Dukat the great strategist hasn't planned for that, has he?' she replied, equally snidely. He didn't smile, and she realised that for once her taunt had struck home.

'I _had_ planned for it, actually, but you jumped the gun and ruined the timing,' he retorted. 'It is crucial that we open discussions with Shakaar immediately; if the Federation arrive and I try to negotiate with them without his support, the Dominion will destroy Cardassia.'

'I doubt he'll support you,' Kira muttered, irritated beyond belief by his arrogant assumption that Shakaar would side with him. She may have been bullied into it, but Edon certainly wouldn't be.

'Then he is an ignorant, backward-looking man who'd cut off his nose to spite his face,' Dukat snarled. Kira laughed humourlessly. Did he really believe this stuff, or was he just being contrary?

'And what d'you think made him that way?' she scoffed. 'Years of fighting you!'

'Major, we do not have time for yet another argument about the Occupation! We both did what we had to do and it didn't end very well – let's leave it at that, shall we?'

She'd rattled his cage, evidently, and she was reluctant to quit while she was ahead, but they both had more pressing matters to attend to than sitting around pouring salt in each other's wounds. Coming from him, that little speech was practically an apology. She nodded.

'Good. I need you to meet with Shakaar within the next 26 hours, because we can't delay any longer. Only with his backing will the Federation even think of trusting me.'

'What if he refuses?'

'Well, going it alone against the Dominion would be suicide. My only alternative would be to defect to the Federation, surrender myself as a prisoner of war and provide Starfleet with intelligence – which, quite frankly, I find distasteful, but I'll do it if I have to.'

'Right, sure, you go ahead and defect, and the Dominion will keep killing hostages until they get you back!' she spat. 'Must make you feel real good about yourself, knowing that you're worth that much. I sure wouldn't let anyone die for your sake!'

'Then you would lose the war,' he said simply. 'If they want the intelligence badly enough, they should be willing to make a few sacrifices. I hold all the keys – if the Federation want my help, they're going to have to play this my way. Besides, Weyoun has made it very clear that puppet rulers are a disposable commodity, so I doubt he'd go to any great lengths to recover me if I was captured.'

That was small comfort, but it would have to do for now. Knowing that Weyoun valued him even less than she did would be quite amusing if the situation were not so very dire.

'Dukat, I want to know something.'

'Yes?'

'What makes you so confident Shakaar will accept your offer?'

'Because he and I both know how volatile the situation is, with that damn great fleet sitting right on the other side of the wormhole and the Federation planning a counter-strike. We both also know that Bajor and this station are the key to this whole quadrant. Whoever controls Terok Nor controls the wormhole, and whoever controls the wormhole controls the Dominion's supply lines. We need that to be us. Which is why I propose a closer alliance between Bajor and Cardassia.' He paused for a second and Kira knew she wouldn't like what he was going to say next. Sure enough, she didn't.

'For this to work, however, Bajor also needs to join the Dominion.'

'You are _insane_,' she hissed, white with rage as she suddenly realised what he meant. The Cardassians couldn't conquer Bajor outright, so they'll get the Dominion to do it for them. She waved a shaking finger at him as he sat on the floor at her feet, feigning polite bemusement.

'This is what you've been getting at all along! If Bajor follows Cardassia's example and joins the Dominion, that's us admitting that you were right. What's that saying of yours, _enemies of the State shall know the error of their ways _– is that it, is that what you want, Dukat?'

She took a deep breath, noting the look of disbelief on his face and hating it, then plunged on with the next round of accusations that her inexhaustible Cardassian-hating inner terrorist summoned up, keeping the fire burning. She could go on forever.

'And anyway, why the hell should I care if the Dominion destroys Cardassia? Good riddance, in my opinion!' she shouted. Dukat laughed, but he didn't smile.

'Don't be a fool, Major. If Cardassia falls, Bajor is next; you know that as well as I do. I don't imagine for a moment that's what you want, so if you'll kindly allow me to finish my sentences before you jump down my throat again, I will explain how to avoid such a fate!'

She nodded curtly, still furious but trying to keep a lid on it for now. The more she knew about his plans, the more weapons she'd have against him, if it came to that. _When_ it came to that.

'Bajor's _official _entry into the Dominion will make the Federation their only real worry; Bajor has no weapons or ships they can use, so they won't bother conscripting any of your people. Instead they'll protect you from the Federation, which wastes their resources and spreads them even thinner across the quadrant. They'll concentrate all their firepower on Starfleet, which leaves their back relatively unguarded.' Dukat spread his hands wide. 'Then, when they least expect it, Bajor and Cardassia will strike together, one from left and one from right. That will trap them in the middle...' he snapped his hands together, '...where the Federation and the Klingons can finish them off.'

She could see the logic in it, however hard she tried not to. It was a cold, calculating, Cardassian logic, to use the Federation as bait like that; the clear-eyed way he put it made her guts twist, and she cursed him to the Fire Caves and back because he was right. It wasn't stubborn Resistance pride that would win this war, it was dishonesty and guile and backstabbing, it was sacrificing your friends and saving your own neck. She hated him for forcing her to admit that.

'I'm sure Sisko and the others will be delighted that you're putting their lives on the line while you sit back and pull all the strings,' she muttered viciously, for lack of anything better to insult him about. 'But then, that's the Cardassian way, isn't it? Letting someone else take the flak for you?'

'I'm glad you understand my reasoning, Major. It's either us or the Federation, and I don't think Starfleet would take kindly to surrendering.' He scowled. 'No, they'll try and do the _moral_ thing and fight them from the front, which simply won't work. We both know that it's only dirty tricks that will win this war.'

Dirty tricks. How very Cardassian. She narrowed her eyes shrewdly.

'Speaking of honour, Dukat, I very much doubt you're helping Bajor and the Federation out of the goodness of your heart. What's your price?'

'Ah, I was wondering when you were going to ask that,' he commented with a wry grin, apparently unsurprised by her bluntness. 'If the Federation accept my offer, I'm going to request a permanent military presence on Terok Nor. It's a Cardassian station in Bajoran space; it should be under our jurisdiction, not Starfleet's. That's all. Well, that plus a few territory concessions, mining rights, that sort of thing,' he added nonchalantly at her sceptical glance. 'Oh, come on!' he protested as her glance quickly turned to a glare. 'If I time this right, I'll have the whole quadrant over a barrel and I intend to make full use of it. I'm the man with the plan; if they're too proud or too stupid to see that, it'll only be their loss. Cardassia is safe enough as part of the Dominion, even if it is an undignified position. If you side with the winner, Major, take the easy way out, you have more chance of staying alive. But then,' he said slyly, raising an eyeridge like the twist of a knife in the back, 'I don't suppose a Resistance fighter knows much about taking the easy way out...'

Her anger, always so close to boiling point whenever he was around, bubbled over. She drew herself up to her full height and stabbed a finger at his face, wishing it was a laser that could burn a hole through his head and let some of the filth out. He always knew exactly where to hit her, and try as she might to rise above it, she always reacted. It was an instinct. Not a good one.

'That's because – unlike you, Dukat – we are not cold-hearted, two-faced, double-dealing pagh-wraiths who'd betray our own mothers if it suited us,' she spat. 'And _that_, in case your twisted little brain interprets it the wrong way, is _not_ a compliment!'

'Oh, but it is,' Dukat replied, fanning her flames to dangerous heights with his calmness, his insolent grin, the mirth in his eyes. 'I am very flattered that you have me figured out so thoroughly, Major. It indicates a great deal of thought on your part. I had no idea I occupied your mind so often.'

His grin only broadened when she produced the phaser and levelled it at his chest again.

'You already tried that once this evening, Major.'

'I changed my mind,' she said flatly, and shot him.

She'd remember the look on his face for a long, long time; she had never seen anyone look quite so astonished in her life. She almost laughed, for a minute, before realising she was standing over the unconscious body of the station commander with a phaser in her hand. It had only been set on low stun, but the idea of Damar or Weyoun barging in now was enough to make her skin crawl. She'd let her anger get on top of her again. It would have been so easy, so effortless, to whack the beam all the way up to level sixteen and completely atomise him. No more Dukat. She should have done it and suffered the consequences, her inner terrorist was screaming at her as she eyed him, sprawled untidily on the floor. She should have done it. But there was part of her that was beginning to wonder whether he might actually be useful, even necessary; she thought she had him figured out, but he had more layers, more masks, than even she had imagined. He was an unknown quantity now, and removing him from the equation might make things even worse. She began to wonder if she'd been absolutely, catastrophically stupid. If Dukat was telling the truth about these plans of his, she'd just made it crystal clear that she was nothing more than a stumbling block, and no Cardassian would lose any sleep over getting rid of her. Not even him... especially not him. He began to stir and groan, then his eyes flicked open and he saw her watching him.

'I knew you'd be the death of me one day, Major,' he said hoarsely, then he started to laugh. She gaped at him as he lay on his back on the floor, laughing until his eyes streamed, his hair full of dust from the floor and a dented scorch-mark in the centre of his cuirass. She could do nothing but stare.

'What's so damn funny?' she demanded once she finally found her tongue.

'I'm just relieved,' he said frankly, wiping his eyes. 'There's nothing quite like a near-death experience to make you feel more alive.'

'It could very easily have been a full death experience, Dukat. Remember that.'

'You know, I could have you arrested,' he remarked, getting to his feet with a pained grunt and dusting himself down stiffly. 'Armed assault on a superior officer is a serious crime.'

His tone was precisely calibrated to get under her skin, to remind her he was still calling the shots, but she knew he was bluffing. She'd seen it in his eyes as she'd shot him; he knew that she knew things had changed. And he knew that she knew she could hurt him, and worse than that, she could upset the whole apple-cart if she chose to. She smiled grimly.

'Yes, but then who would talk to Shakaar for you? You need me too, Dukat. Try not to forget it next time you wind me up, or you'll get shot on a lot more than low stun.'

'I threaten you, you threaten me back, is that it?'

'Sounds fair enough.'

'Again, a nicely symmetrical arrangement. Though I wish you'd be a bit more subtle,' he grumbled. 'We're not Klingons, you know; we are capable of communicating without beating each other up.'

Quite unabashed, he stripped off his armour and undershirt to inspect the welt on his chest that the phaser had left. She found herself watching him do it; she'd forgotten what Cardassian skin looked like up close, the elaborate patterns of muscle and sinew overlaid with ridges and scales. He was leaner than most Cardassians, who tended to be a bulky, heavily-built race, and near his left shoulder was another livid bruise presumably from when she threw the baseball at him yesterday. Knowing that she'd hurt him, that she _could_ hurt him, made her feel a strange hot surge of guilty pleasure, which rendered her momentarily speechless for reasons she couldn't quite explain. He noticed her curious eyes and smiled cryptically; she fixed her gaze hard on the baseball-bruise, cursing herself.

'Why haven't you healed that?' she asked bluntly. He shrugged.

'Wouldn't be much of a reminder if I got rid of it.'

'But you've already done what it reminds you of.'

'I know.'

Kira left it at that. She would never understand Cardassians.

'You know, Major, I really do enjoy the opportunity to work with you like this,' he remarked as he pulled his shirt back on gingerly. 'I think we will do great things together, you and I.'

'Dukat, d'you remember what I said to you on the bridge of the Groumall? About sticking to business? I haven't changed my mind, you know.'

She felt horribly hypocritical, having just spent the last five minutes watching him half-naked with an avidity that shocked her; it rushed to her face in an embarrassing glow and she was sure he noticed it. He got back into his armour, wincing, and ran a hand through his hair.

'Ah, but do you remember what I said in reply? I said you had a hard time accepting compliments. I see you haven't changed your mind about that either. Very well; I'll stick to business if you wish, but it's a shame... we could have so much more...'

He let his voice tail off and raised a speculative eyeridge at her. Disgusted, she shook his gaze off her body like it was a particularly stringy cobweb.

'I may be working with you, Dukat, but I will never, _ever_ sleep with you, not even if you're the last man alive! Is that clear, or do you need me to draw you a picture?' she hissed. He shrugged.

'Never is a long time, Major – but I live in hope.'

'You might as well jump out the nearest airlock right now then, because your hope is wasted.'

'We shall see about that. Now, isn't it time for bed? We're both going to have a busy few days; I'd hate to impair your performance by keeping you up too late.'

His tone of voice was all innocence, but the glint in his eyes made it clear that the subtle double-entendres were entirely deliberate. She glared at him.

'Dukat, I'd hate to impair _your_ performance by shooting you again, but I may have to if you insist on behaving this way!' she replied sharply. He looked sidelong at her.

'Major, it takes a lot more than low stun to seriously impair a Cardassian's performance,' he murmured. 'In any sense of the word.'

Oh, he was insufferable. Even after she'd come within an inch of killing him, he still thought he could try it on. Any time she started to think he might have a shred of something honest in that scheming mind of his, he reverted right back to his predatory, insolent, over-familiar self and made her want to shoot him all over again. She tossed her head irritably and opened the door.

'I suggest you clear your schedule tomorrow afternoon,' he called after her. 'You'll be going to Bajor. Sleep well, won't you?'


	7. Part 7: Hope In Our Hearts

**A/N: **Whoah, seriously, what have they done with the account page and all those sidebars? Yuck. Anyway, new chapter for now with another one on its way, hopefully tomorrow if I can get my arse in gear. Ta very much to everyone who reviewed, your words really make me smile (and I should have acknowledged you before but I kept forgetting, sorry about that.)

**PART SEVEN: HOPE IN OUR HEARTS**

_**We were talking, passing strangers**_

_**Moments call across an empty room**_

_**Wasted whispers, faded secrets**_

_**Quickly pass as time goes, time goes by too soon**_

– _**Ultravox**_

Jake abruptly jerked awake as he became aware of an insistent bleeping. He groaned and opened his eyes, noticing gloomily that it was 0200 as he called for the lights. The bleeping was coming from the computer. He stumbled out of bed and turned the monitor on, rubbing his eyes; it was a transmission from Kira, who looked as tired and grim as only she could.

'Nerys, it's two in the morning,' Jake mumbled, trying to suppress a yawn. 'What's happening?'

'I need you to sit in on Dukat's morning meeting with Weyoun at 0700,' she said quickly. 'I don't have time to explain.'

'What's the big hurry?'

'Dukat's sending me to Bajor tomorrow. You have _got_ to find out what he says to Weyoun about it, I can't walk into this with my eyes shut.'

Jake's head whirled; he'd spent most of the evening trying to figure out a way to get in on the meetings without looking too suspicious, and now he had to do it in a few hours, unprepared. Kira's eyes flickered towards the bottom of the screen and a hunted look came across her face.

'I have to go. I broke into the Security office to use the comm and I don't want anyone to catch me here. Meet me in the Replimat at 1200, alright?'

'Nerys, wait – '

The monitor went blank. Jake got back into bed, bemused. Everything was happening so fast. He'd just about got used to being a virtual prisoner on the station, not knowing what was happening to his father, then Rom had been arrested, and now things had taken an even stranger turn with this mysterious plan of Dukat's. Kira was relying on him and it made him feel slightly panicky; she tended to be unforgiving to those who disappointed her. He'd rashly agreed to gather information on Dukat and Weyoun, but in reality the prospect scared the crap out of him. It wasn't Weyoun he was afraid of; he thought the little Vorta was contemptibly shallow and two-faced, but hardly very threatening without the might of the Jem'Hadar to back him up. It was Dukat he found frightening. The Cardassian was a closed book to him; certainly, he was the face of evil, ousting his father from the station, inviting the Dominion into the Alpha Quadrant and starting all this war – but Jake had seen him around the station before when he was rattling around in that awful Klingon bucket and limping back every few months, sick and bedraggled, and those two people didn't seem to fit together. He was too many things all at once, and Jake found it very confusing. He'd heard about the man's humiliating fall from grace on Cardassia, just for admitting he had a half-Bajoran daughter. His daughter... Tora Ziyal. Jake didn't know her very well, but Dukat obviously loved her dearly and had given up everything for her. What kind of evil dictator does that? A sentimental one, obviously. So he was an evil dictator with a heart, which made even less sense. No, Dukat made no sense at all, and now he'd have to dig past all those different faces and try to work out what was really going on. Bloody Cardies, as Miles would say. Jake sighed and turned over in bed; he was now resolutely awake, it was far too hot in his room because of the damn environmental controls, and he'd have to get up in a few hours anyway if he wanted to be ready for this meeting. He got up and threw on some clothes, grabbed his padd full of character sketches, and left his quarters. He'd go and sit in the Replimat, maybe work on that new chapter of _Anslem_ which was starting to go somewhere at last. And, of course, try not to think about untangling the mystery that was Gul Dukat.

The Replimat was deserted at this hour; everyone was either asleep in their quarters or on night duty somewhere. Even Quark's was closed for the night. The Ferengi worked insanely hard, but even he had to sleep at some point, much as it pained him to waste even a second of potential profit-making time. Jake sat there for about half an hour, not really getting any further with _Anslem_ but enjoying the cool of the more open space compared with the stifling little box his quarters had become. Suddenly a shadow fell across him and he looked up. It was Tora Ziyal.

'Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt,' she said shyly. Jake shrugged.

'It's alright. Couldn't sleep, huh?'

'No. I often come here at night to draw... the angles up there are really interesting.'

She pointed out the domed roof of the temple, overshadowed by the junction of two catwalks and one of the big eye-shaped windows hanging it over it all, letting in a dark wash of space and stars. Jake looked up, then back at Ziyal, who had a slightly distant look on her half-caste face. He suddenly realised that she was very pretty, in an alien kind of way; the scaly ridges that looked harsh and craggy on full Cardassians were delicate on her, but she had a distinctive Bajoran nose. She had the wide, clear eyes of a Bajoran as well; Cardassian eyes tended to be murkier, with heavy grey lids and a baleful, hooded appearance. He'd never really got a good look at her before, and he was glad he had now. She indicated the empty place opposite him.

'Mind if I join you?'

'Sure, go ahead.'

Ziyal pulled out the chair, set her sketchpad and pens down and sat. There was a decidedly awkward pause, not helped by the fact that it was now close to 3am and Jake had a million things to think about, none of them very nice.

'Won't your father come looking for you?' he blurted eventually, more to fill up the silence than anything else. The last thing he wanted was to run into Dukat, especially at this time of night alone in the Replimat; the man was fiercely protective of his daughter, and not exactly fond of him either. Ziyal shrugged.

'I doubt it. He knows I have trouble sleeping.'

She stared down at her hands, her blue eyes hooding over. The resemblance to Dukat was striking.

'Would you think me a bit strange if I told you I was scared?' she said quietly. Jake frowned. That was uncanny, it was way too similar to what he'd been thinking just before he came here.

'No. I'm a little scared too.'

'It must be hard for you,' she mused. 'Stuck here without your father, I mean, and all that stuff with Rom and Nerys.'

She knew too much! It was that Cardassian guile again, the same way that Garak always seemed to know exactly what was on your mind before you'd even figured it out yourself. Jake remembered that Ziyal and Garak were quite close. Lovers, some people said. He nodded. There was something about her that made him want to tell the truth. Perhaps because she was young, only six months or so older than he was, yet she'd been through so much already.

'Yeah, it is kind of hard, not knowing where my dad is or anything. But I'm getting used to it. Besides, I'm sure he'll be back sooner or later.'

'Sooner,' she said softly. 'My father was telling me that the Federation are planning a counter-attack. The message you and Nerys sent... it got through.'

Jake's heart leapt. His father was coming back. His father, Dax, Miles, Nog, all of them. Then it plummeted again as he realised what she'd just implied.

'He knew about that?'

She nodded. Jake felt his blood run cold. If Dukat knew, then that meant Weyoun probably knew as well. Ziyal looked at him sidelong with those wide blue eyes.

'He and Nerys have a plan, but I'm worried that it won't work.'

Jake sat bolt upright in his chair, mind suddenly racing. The daughter of the man he had to spy on was sitting here practically dropping information into his lap. He looked her in the eyes.

'Tora,' he began, not quite sure how to address her. She laughed.

'Please, call me Ziyal.'

'Ziyal, then. I need to know about this plan,' he said quietly. 'I dunno if I should tell you this – can you keep a secret?'

He wondered if this was the right thing to do; she was Dukat's daughter after all. She grinned at him and he was struck by how it lit up her face, erasing that trace of wistfulness that seemed to be there at the back of everything, as if she was constantly waiting for something that never came.

'Of course I can. Half-Cardassian, remember? I know _all_ about secrets.'

'I suppose you would, hanging out with Garak all this time.'

Her face fell and Jake cursed himself for being so tactless. If they were lovers, as the rumour went, she'd be feeling pretty bad about the fact that he was light-years away and may even be dead by now. She quickly covered it and picked up her sketchbook decisively.

'Come with me,' she said. 'I know a place we can talk more privately.'

She led him down the Promenade to Garak's shop and proceeded to override the door lock with a speed that suggested she'd done it a fair few times. The door slid open, then banged shut behind them. It was dark and stale inside the shop, half-finished clothes hanging eerily from their racks like ghostly figures. Ziyal took him into the little stockroom at the back and turned the light on. She sat down on a crate of fabric; he perched on the edge of the worktop.

'So what do you want to tell me?'

The blunt question took him by surprise. He faltered a moment, then decided to just come out and say it. There was something about her that he felt he could trust.

'Ziyal, how much do you know about what's been going on recently? With the sabotage and everything?'

'I know you and Odo and Nerys planned it, but it went wrong and Rom got arrested. My father persuaded Nerys to work with him against the Dominion, and in return he got Rom transferred off the station to a Bajoran jail. Nerys doesn't trust him, but they need each other for this to work and I just hope she realises that in time. He's protecting her from Weyoun in return for her help, but she still thinks he's her real enemy.'

So Dukat was planning something against the Dominion. How Bajor fit into this, he still couldn't quite grasp, but Ziyal had given him a valuable lead: he'd now have something to watch out for in the meeting tomorrow. Kira obviously wanted him to find out if it was her Dukat was lying to, or Weyoun. He sighed. He'd have to look seriously hard to spot that.

'You still haven't really answered me, Jake,' Ziyal pointed out mildly, with the hint of a smile.

'I... uh,' he stammered, then thought oh, what the hell. 'Nerys asked me to sit in on your father's meeting with Weyoun tomorrow morning. He's sending her to Bajor and she wants to know why: he's obviously told her already, but she wants to know if she can trust his reasons. I have to listen in on what reasons he gives Weyoun, and, you know, see which way the wind is blowing.'

Ziyal was silent for such a long time that Jake started to panic. What if Dukat had sent her to get this information out of him? But no, that didn't make sense, Dukat already knew he was involved with Nerys's sabotage plan and he hadn't told Weyoun yet. Or had them arrested. What, then?

'You won't tell him, will you? Your father, I mean,' he blurted. She shook her head.

'Of course not. I was just thinking how much I hate this war. Everyone spying on each other, no one trusting anything... oh, I wish my father had left the Dominion alone!' she said bitterly. Jake couldn't agree more. If his father had done something like that, he didn't know what he'd do.

'He explained it to me and I do understand, but I can't help thinking that if he'd just ignored them, we wouldn't be in this mess and all these people wouldn't be dying. He claimed if he hadn't done what he did, the Dominion would've invaded Cardassia, so he went and made some huge plot instead... and it's all so complicated, I barely know what's what any more! Elim would love it,' she finished a little sadly. Jake didn't know what to say. She'd opened up so readily to him, almost too readily, as if she were trying to gain his confidence for some ulterior motive. But he studied her for a second out of the corners of his eyes and realised that this thought was not only unfair and paranoid, it was also just plain wrong. She was lonely. The man she obviously cared about a great deal, for all that he was sneaky and enigmatic, was far away across the quadrant on the wrong side of the front lines, she was surrounded by Cardassians and Bajorans who couldn't see past her mixed heritage, and Jem'Hadar who just hated everybody, and her father had spent half his life waging war on her mother's people. Compared to what she dealt with every day, he had it pretty easy. He felt a sudden rush of warmth for her, although he barely knew her; he reached out and laid his hand on her arm.

'Don't worry,' he said confidently, though he was far from confident himself. 'It'll work out OK.'

She smiled at him, that sunny, radiant grin again, and put her own hand over his for a moment.

'I'm glad you think so. I keep telling myself that, but it's a relief to hear someone else say it too. Listen, we should go before the sensors warm up and register we're in here.'

She pointed to the corner near the main door of the shop; how she knew where the sensor was, Jake had no idea. They left the shop, Ziyal locked the door quickly and they ventured back onto the Promenade. She indicated the north turbolift.

'Home is that way for me. I'll see you around, Jake.'

'Uh, yeah, sure,' he muttered distractedly, having just spotted a figure that looked worryingly like Dukat on the upper level by Quark's. She nodded.

'Well... goodnight, then.'

Her quick, precise steps carried her swiftly away from him and into the turbolift; he stood watching her, something vague and strange in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite identify. He shook his head and turned towards his own quarters, lost in thought. It was a relief to have an almost-normal conversation with someone his own age, though he didn't like that train of thought because it reminded him how much he missed Nog. The Ferengi boy drove him mad on a daily basis, but he still missed him. He looked up at the spot on the upper catwalk where they used to sit, swinging their legs, watching passers-by and planning mischief until Odo came and moved them along. Odo was yet another mystery; he'd just disappeared into his quarters and Kira was spitting mad about it, but no one knew what he was doing. I wish my father were here, he thought glumly, he'd know what to do. Or Dax, or Miles, or... well, anyone, really...

Jake was jolted out of his musings when he collided hard with somebody. The impact knocked him onto his behind and sent his padd clattering out of his hand. Dazed, he looked up. It was Dukat, who looked similarly surprised.

'I'm sorry about that, I was miles away,' Dukat said, helping him up. 'Are you alright?'

'Um... I'm fine, don't worry about it,' Jake stammered, suddenly noticing that Dukat had a burn mark on the front of his armour and his hair was rather untidy. Jake dusted himself down and retrieved his padd from the floor. Dukat looked at him intently for a moment, about to speak, then apparently thought better of it and continued on his way. He was walking stiffly, as if something pained him.

'Gul Dukat,' Jake called after him. Dukat turned abruptly, and Jake thought he saw a slight wince cross the Cardassian's face at the sudden motion.

'Yes?'

'I was, uh, I was wondering... can I sit in on your meeting with Weyoun tomorrow? To get accurate reports for the News Service? See, Weyoun was complaining that my coverage was too biased and I thought that if I got it first hand, I could get a more balanced viewpoint...'

He broke off, suddenly aware he was babbling, and Dukat skewered him with that blue stare.

'I don't see why not – if you are truly concerned about a _balanced viewpoint_ and not simply looking to spread more rumours and lies about. The Dominion don't take very kindly to that sort of thing, and neither do I.'

Jake tried not to flinch. Dammit, he knows, _he knows..._ He shook his head quickly.

'Don't worry, I've learned my lesson.'

'I'm glad to hear it. Education is power, as we say on Cardassia. I'll check with Weyoun for you.'

'Thank you. Um, goodnight.'

'Good night, Mr Sisko.'

Dukat smiled rather crookedly, then walked round the corner out of sight. Jake simply stood there, a dizzy mixture of relief and terror sloshing around in his brain. How he was going to get through tomorrow, God only knew, and He didn't seem inclined to share His knowledge.


	8. Part 8: Tell Me Lies

**PART EIGHT: TELL ME LIES**

_**I couldn't find a way**_

_**So I'll settle for one day to believe in you**_

_**Tell me, tell me, tell me lies**_

– _**Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks**_

The next morning came far too early for Jake's liking. He had figured out roughly what to do, but visions of Kira's disappointment kept rising up in his brain. He knew that if Kira didn't get the information she wanted she'd take matters into her own hands, and while she was both proficient and experienced, Jake realised that without Odo to be her counterbalance she had nothing but hate and drive to go on, which would make her rash and reckless. He didn't know a great deal about the Occupation apart from the facts that everybody knew, but Kira going up against a whole station full of Cardassians could only end one way – bloody violence. She was tough, but not indestructible, and the problem was she didn't realise it.

Before Jake knew it, it was five minutes to seven and the meeting was due to start. Forcing the nerves down inside himself, he pelted through the corridors, jumped into the turbolift and arrived at the wardroom just as Weyoun, Damar and Dukat were taking their places at the table. Damar looked puffy-eyed and hungover, Weyoun was his usual chilly self, and Dukat had a rather peculiar expression on his face as Jake slid into a chair in the corner and pulled out his recorder and padds.

'What are you doing here, Mr Sisko?' Weyoun enquired, voice all politeness and veiled threat. Dukat waved a hand, still with that odd look on his face, and Jake realised that the Cardassian was trying not to laugh. Jake didn't know whether he should be relieved or even more unnerved.

'He requested to sit in on our meetings in order to get a more, uh, _balanced_ perspective of the war's progress,' Dukat explained to Weyoun, laughter apparently under control. 'You know, for that news bulletin. If you had checked your messages this morning, you would have seen my memo about it.'

Damar smirked and Weyoun glared at him, before sighing and steepling his fingers.

'Very well. However, Mr Sisko, I will be _personally_ reading and approving all of your work before it gets sent out, you understand?'

Jake nodded, and the meeting began. The first half an hour or so was taken up with the tedious to-ing and fro-ing of a busy military installation, but Jake was fascinated by the interplay between Weyoun and Dukat. The two of them were like fencers, the Vorta all icy politeness and calculated smiles, the Cardassian a sort of sinuous, threatening elegance, each vying for dominance but never quite pushing through into out-and-out aggression; instead they danced warily around each other and sparred with increasingly sharp comments before retreating back into the blander territory of diplomacy. Damar merely sat there, drinking endless cups of that revolting excuse for tea the Cardassians liked so much and replying in short, terse sentences to any questions he was asked. Damar was another one Jake couldn't work out; he swaggered around the station like a brainless thug, but there was certainly intelligence there, very carefully hidden behind all the kanar and the bad attitude. Another wild card to keep an eye on... Jake wished he was better at poker.

'Now, I believe it's time to discuss your trip to Bajor, Dukat,' Weyoun said crisply and Jake double-checked his recorder. Dukat quirked an eyeridge in his direction before turning to the Vorta.

'Indeed. I have requested that Major Kira accompany me to the surface later today, in her official role as Bajoran Liaison... and also because I want to keep an eye on her. I believe you've read the outline of my proposal to First Minister Shakaar?'

'I would prefer to use the official Dominion proposal, Dukat,' Weyoun admonished. 'However, I defer to your superior knowledge of Bajor and its people in this instance. All I want to know is, will they make valuable allies?'

'The Bajorans are in desperate need of materials and technology, mainly due to the actions of my people during the Occupation, and I wish to emphasise the fact that they will be much better off under the Dominion than under the Federation, who frankly haven't been much use. Shakaar's no fool, but he is quick to go on the defensive, which is why I want to bring Kira with me: to defuse the situation. I also do not think it would be wise to display too much force at this time; after all, I am making an offer, not a threat. Which is why I will not be taking guards with me.'

Jake made a very careful note of that. No guards meant no witnesses. Weyoun raised an eyebrow.

'And what happens if he refuses?'

'I hope he is not stupid enough to refuse, but if he is, I do not recommend taking stronger measures yet – we've got our hands full with the Federation and the Klingons. Besides, Cardassia already fought a long, costly war against the Bajorans and we have no wish to repeat it any time soon.'

The faint flicker of a grimace appeared on Dukat's face at that point, and Jake made a note of it, identifying it as something along the lines of self-reproach. He put that thought aside for later, intriguing as it was, because Weyoun had started to speak again.

'However, you did not have the might of the Jem'Hadar on your side at that point, Dukat,' the Vorta pointed out smugly. 'If Bajor is as resource-poor as you say, why do we not simply attack? They could hardly put up that much of a fight.'

'Are you insulting the Cardassian military forces?' Dukat hissed. 'The reason we could not take Bajor in fifty years was because the Bajoran people refused to submit, whatever measures we imposed! They rebelled constantly, they caused untold amounts of destruction, and it dragged on year after year at great cost to our forces. They will not bow to you any more than they did to us.'

'Well, in that case, we shall have to hope Shakaar sees sense. The Founder has learned from Odo that Bajor is an important strategic asset to either side, and if we cannot have it outright we will have to destroy it, rather than have it fall into Federation hands.'

Dukat sat perfectly still for a moment, but Damar was smiling. Dukat shook his head, sighing.

'I shall try to persuade Shakaar that a stronger alliance is the answer – but if he does not accept, and there is a good chance he won't, then you must prepare yourself for a very long, very messy fight, if you truly want to annexe Bajor. You realise I cannot guarantee Cardassian support if you attack; we've already lost one war against the Bajorans and another would be simply disastrous for morale. Not to mention the cost in men, ships and equipment, which are thin on the ground already.'

'Victory is life,' Weyoun quoted. 'You Cardassians may be hesitant to fight the Bajorans, but I assure you the Jem'Hadar have no fear. However, you are right, we've got to deal with the Federation first – that is, if your troops' morale is adequate to the task...'

Damar snarled and began to rise out of his chair at the obvious slight against Cardassia, but Dukat laid a warning hand on his arm; Damar sank back down, glowering. Weyoun stood up.

'Well, gentlemen, I believe that's everything we need to discuss at this time. Dukat, I shall consult further with the Founder on the matter of Bajor. You leave at 1600, am I correct?'

'That's right.'

'You shall have the Founder's comments by then. Is there anything else before we wrap up?'

'I don't think so. Oh, by the way, did you get everything straightened out with that Ferengi prisoner's transfer?' Dukat asked with a sly grin. Weyoun bristled slightly.

'I am still unsure precisely why you wanted the Ferengi transferred to a Bajoran penal colony, actually. It seems peculiar, considering that he committed a blatant act of sabotage. Where is the famous Cardassian justice, in which all who are tried are guilty?'

'Offering an alliance to Bajor on one hand and killing one of their engineering personnel on the other? Believe me, Weyoun, that will only make Shakaar more likely to refuse.'

Weyoun narrowed his eyes at Dukat, who shrugged and continued, 'Besides, being guilty does not always lead to a death sentence in the Cardassian justice system. Often, but not always. If you spare a felon's life, he owes the State a debt – which is more useful than making a martyr out of him. And heaven knows the Bajorans are fond of their martyrs.'

The Vorta nodded, though there was something about his face that Jake knew meant trouble; perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but sometime soon things would come to a head between Weyoun and Dukat, and it wouldn't be pretty. In that moment Jake realised that whatever happened between the Federation and the Dominion was a smokescreen for another, quieter conflict: that between Cardassia and the Dominion. The alliance Dukat had made with the Founders was as fake as Weyoun's smile. Jake also realised that he could tell Kira, definitively, that the reasons Dukat gave Weyoun for going to Bajor were unlikely to be true. What the real reasons were, he couldn't quite tell, but it was better than nothing. The meeting ended and he quietly made an exit, hardly daring to believe he'd got away with it, only to be stopped halfway down the corridor by a strong hand gripping his shoulder. He managed not to let out a yelp, but he nearly bit his lip right through as he wheeled round and found Dukat there.

'So, did you get what you came for?' the Cardassian enquired as he released Jake.

'Um, yeah, I, uh, I think so.'

'Choose your words carefully, Mr Sisko. Even in the interests of journalism, I doubt you want to find out first hand what happens to rumour-mongers when the Dominion catches up with them.'

Dukat's eyes had a gleam of something in them, perhaps amusement. Jake swallowed hard against the sudden constriction in his throat, and screwed up a tentative smile.

'Don't worry, I'll stick to the facts this time.'

'A wise decision. I look forward to reading your report.' Dukat smiled thinly. 'Perhaps I could have Major Kira's copy once she's finished with it? Say... oh, about 1230 today?'

Jake practically saw his own jaw hit the floor as Dukat walked away, chuckling.


	9. Part 9: Bulletproof

**PART NINE: BULLETPROOF**

_**I won't let you in again**_

_**The messages I've tried to send**_

_**My information's just not going in**_

– _**La Roux**_

Kira waited by the airlock door at docking bay 5, where the ugly little Dominion shuttle that would be conveying her to Bajor was waiting. She stood still, but inside she was fuming. Jake had turned up at the Replimat fifteen minutes late, shoved a padd into her hands then practically sprinted away without a word. She'd ploughed through the scribble of notes he'd taken from the meeting that morning, then promptly dumped the padd in the waste extraction, furious that Dukat had decided to come along with her: to 'defuse the situation,' he'd claimed, but she knew it was to stop her and Shakaar going behind his back. She hadn't really given the matter much thought – and there was no chance of it now, not with him breathing down her neck. Jake had noted something about no guards, but with Dukat that could mean anything from a secret plan, to a wish for privacy in which to attempt his vile designs on her. The clank of approaching footsteps interrupted her ill-humoured thoughts and she turned sharply in the direction of the sound, scowling as a familiar lanky figure came around the corner.

'What the hell are you doing here, Dukat? I'm quite capable of piloting this shuttle without your assistance, you know,' she snapped, pretending she didn't know that he was coming. He grinned.

'You didn't seriously think I'd let you go alone, did you? Come on, Major, you have to get up earlier than that to sneak past _me_. Besides, you and Shakaar will be seeing each other for the first time since the end of your relationship. I wouldn't miss that for anything.'

'Be damned!'

'Major, we are all damned, eternally and forever, because life is a bitch and I doubt that death is any better. Still, I find it helps to have a sense of humour about it. Let's get going.'

The shuttle Dukat had commandeered for the trip was, like all Dominion vessels, almost puritanical in its lack of comfort; the cockpit was not much bigger than the bathroom in her quarters, it was cold and poorly-lit, and it had no chairs, no replicator and no viewscreen. She claimed the pilot's console and headset then spent an awkward few minutes wondering how to start the pre-launch routine – until Dukat leaned around from behind her, effectively pinning her against the edge of the console with his body, to press a key she hadn't noticed. The engine prep sequence started up with a hum, and he slid his hand casually across her hip as he moved away. She glared at him.

'If you want that hand to stay attached to your arm, you'd better keep it to yourself,' she warned. He raised his eyeridges mockingly and made as if to lean close to her again. She stiffened in readiness to shove him away, but he chuckled and headed for the comm panel instead.

'Ops, this is shuttle B227 requesting permission to depart from bay 5.'

'Go ahead, sir,' Damar's voice came over the comm. 'Have a safe trip.'

'Ah, just a minute, Dukat,' Weyoun interrupted. Dukat rolled his eyes.

'What's the matter, Weyoun, didn't I say goodbye to you properly?'

'When are you due back?'

'2200 hours. I'm sure you can last that long without me – still, don't hesitate to contact me in an emergency. You know, if you lock yourself out of your quarters again or something,' Dukat quipped, knowing how embarrassed the Vorta was after that incident. Kira couldn't help but grin.

'And _I'm_ sure that _you_ will not object to an escort,' Weyoun replied frostily. 'There are two Jem'Hadar waiting in the airlock; please allow them on board your ship.'

'For heaven's sake, Weyoun!' Dukat complained. 'I thought we went over this already!'

'Nevertheless, it would be a _tragedy_ if some misfortune were to befall you on Bajor. You aren't very popular there, after all. I for one would feel much happier if you were adequately protected against any... rogue elements. Let them on board, Dukat.'

Kira snorted. There was predictable, and there was Weyoun. She signalled to Dukat, who cut the comm and turned to face her.

'We've got to get rid of them,' she muttered. 'Shakaar won't see you if they're hanging around.'

'Leave that to me,' he replied easily and opened the shuttle door. Two big, surly Jem'Hadar tramped into the shuttle and took up positions either side of the engine access hatch at the back, their tall braided pigtails nearly brushing the ceiling. Dukat accessed the comm again.

'Weyoun, our escort is aboard; if you'd be kind enough to release the docking clamps now, we can be on our way. Provided you can find the right control, that is.'

The clamps released with a hiss and Kira steered the ship carefully out of the dock, not enjoying the sensation of seeing the view in only one eye. The pilot's headset pinched her shoulder where it clipped on and she knew its constant irritating buzz in her ears would give her a headache before too long, but she didn't fancy surrendering control to Dukat so she grappled with the bewildering controls as best she could until the autopilot took over. Dukat, meanwhile, had found some packing crates to sit on and had his feet up on the weapons console, idly reading a padd with the air of a man going on holiday. He looked up as she swore and entered yet another course correction.

'Having trouble there, Major?'

'Nope,' she muttered sourly, 'everything's just _wonderful_. I'm stuck on a freezing cold shuttle with you and those two goons,' she jerked a thumb at the Jem'Hadar, who merely blinked, 'and the damn thing won't even fly straight! I'm having a great time, can't you tell?'

'You have to overcompensate for vertical positioning. Do you want me to show you – no, alright, forget I said anything, I really don't know why I bother sometimes...' he grumbled as she glared at him, the effect somewhat spoiled by the eyepiece wobbling in front of her face like the parody of an admonishing finger. She turned her back on him but the view was rather dull, and knowing that the two Jem'Hadar were nailing their stares through the back of her head was hardly reassuring. She resigned herself to a chilly, uncomfortable couple of hours.

By the time they were halfway there she was freezing, her feet were sore and her head was burning from the headset. She yanked the wretched device off and massaged her aching temples, blinking gratefully. Honestly, what kind of idiot designs a ship without a viewscreen? She glanced over at Dukat, who was leaning back against the wall with his eyes shut, but she doubted very much that he was asleep. The two Jem'Hadar were standing still as gargoyles at the back, their occasional blinks or twitches and the steady flow of White in their feeding tubes the only signs that they were alive at all. She looked back at Dukat. From what Jake had found out, his excuse for going to Bajor was attempting to convince Shakaar they'd be better off under the Dominion than the Federation, no doubt using that heady combination of malice and promise that Cardassians were so adept at employing. She felt a grudging admiration for the way he had subtly adapted the fact of the matter into several different versions, each one containing just enough of the truth to be convincing. Which led her to wonder whether the version he had told her was yet another façade. Perhaps the only truly honest sentiment she'd got from him was yesterday, when he laughed after she'd shot him. She found it difficult to get that image out of her head: him lying on the floor of those disused quarters with dust in his hair and scorched armour, giddy with relief that he was still alive. And the bruises on his skin, bruises she'd caused. How much was her genuinely having power over him, and how much was simply him allowing her a little leeway, for whatever sordid reasons he undoubtedly had? She'd shocked him then, and he'd let her see that; she'd have to keep shocking him, constantly knocking him off balance, otherwise he'd run right over the top of her.

'If there's something you want to say to me, Major, I'm listening,' he said without opening his eyes. She grimaced and turned to the helm console, but there was nothing on there to command her attention. She reluctantly looked back at him and he opened his eyes.

'Alright, I'll get you started, since you seem a little tongue-tied. Jake Sisko needs more practice if you want him to spy on me again; sneaking in late and hiding in a corner positively screamed that he was up to something. Weyoun didn't notice, but I could barely keep a straight face.'

'He's a journalist, Dukat, he's reporting on the proceedings of the war,' she answered flatly, not rising to his bait, though it made a bit of her shrivel inside. 'He was probably lurking in a corner because he didn't want _you_ pontificating at him about Glorious Mother Cardassia and filling up all his tapes with your endless cant. It had nothing to do with me.'

'Indeed, Mother Cardassia is glorious,' Dukat replied cheerfully, 'as you and your people will be finding out very soon, with any luck.'

It was comments like that which really set her teeth on edge; he was so sincere, so smug in his role as the leader of his empire, the man who'd brought unparalleled power to Cardassia and bloody war to the rest of the quadrant, that at times she was sure beyond any doubt that was who he really was. But there were so many different undercurrents which didn't gel with this picture, she didn't know what was a mask and what wasn't. What was for show and what was for real. That image of him lying on the floor and laughing was perhaps the simplest, most unadulterated view she'd ever had of him, and she didn't know where to fit it in. More to the point, she didn't know why she kept coming back to it.

'If your _Mother Cardassia_ is so damn wonderful, why did you prostitute her to the Founders?'

She knew she was goading him, and she did it anyway. She wanted to see how far she could push him before he dropped his act, or if he ever did. That shot, that laugh yesterday, that was not an act. She'd escaped death before and the way you looked was the last thing on your mind; the first time it had happened to her, she'd burst into tears out of sheer astonished relief, and later she'd despised herself for being so weak. Now she'd seen him in such an unguarded, unrehearsed moment, she was strangely fascinated by it. By what he would do if she knocked him off-kilter a second time. He looked at her with a sardonic smile, obviously much better at resisting her taunts than she was his.

'I did not _prostitute_ her, Major. I saved her. And if Bajor follows my example, you will experience the benefits that a _fair_ and _equal_ partnership with such a formidable ally can bring. Or, of course, you can refuse and spend the rest of your lives relying on handouts from whoever can spare you anything. To me there's really no contest. Is there, my friends?' he remarked to the two Jem'Hadar, who simply stared back. He shrugged. 'No, I didn't think so.'

His tone of voice was the usual snide, patronising drawl that she found so infuriating, but a strange and significant look crossed his face for a minute, a look that would have been a laugh if it were any more prominent. It caught her off-guard for a second and she opened her mouth on a sentence she hadn't quite worked out yet, but he shook his head minutely, his eyes flicking to the Jem'Hadar.

'Huh... we'll see about that,' she countered weakly as she shoved the headset back on. 'It's obviously First Minister Shakaar's decision to make, not mine, though I'm sure you can guess what I'd say in his place... ah, damn this thing!'

She was so flustered by Dukat's peculiar expression that she'd managed to jam the headset over her face at the wrong angle; the little viewscreen was crooked on its flexible arm and shining right in her eyes. As she wrestled with it, Dukat came over and carefully adjusted it for her so it sat better. His fingers were cool and dry on the side of her face. Ordinarily she would have fended him off but now she simply stood there like a statue, unnerved by his gentleness. His hand brushed hers as he went back to his perch on the crates; it took her a second to realise he'd slipped a tiny scrap of paper between her fingers. She quickly hid it up her sleeve and turned back to the helm control, slowing to impulse as the Bajoran moon Derna appeared on the horizon.

'How far away are we, Major?' Dukat enquired as if nothing had happened.

'We're approaching Derna. Our ETA is thirty-six minutes at full impulse.'

'It really is far too cold in here,' Dukat remarked loudly to the Jem'Hadar. 'One of you, come and help me adjust the environmental controls.'

He stalked out of the door, followed by the slightly taller of the two; the other one turned to watch them go, and Kira seized her chance to read the bit of paper. _When good fortune comes knocking, let her in,_ it said in rather malformed Bajoran characters. She stuffed it out of sight and bent over the console as the Jem'Hadar turned back to face her. The soldier was a lot bigger than her, but he wouldn't be expecting an attack. If she could just get him to come close enough without seeming suspicious, she might have a chance to jump him. She idly pressed a few buttons on the console and was rewarded by an aggrieved bleep from the computer; she did it again a couple more times for good measure, then turned round to face the Jem'Hadar at the back of the room.

'Hey you,' she addressed him brusquely. 'Come here a minute.'

'You need assistance?' he enquired, but didn't move. Kira did her best to look baffled and frustrated.

'There's some kind of anomaly on the lateral sensors,' she lied, tapping the headset for emphasis, 'but I don't seem to be able to identify it. Can you take a look at it for me?'

The Jem'Hadar approached, not letting go of his rifle, and she took the headset off and handed it to him. He looked at it suspiciously for a second.

'Well, put it on then,' she encouraged him. He took it like it was an unexploded bomb and lowered it carefully over his large lumpy skull. Kira's Resistance instincts kicked in; barely thinking, she grabbed the rifle off him and slammed the stock into the back of his head. He dropped like a stone with a surprised grunt, sending the headset skittering across the floor. She let out a long breath. Good fortune comes knocking, indeed. She heard a shout and a phaser shot from the back of the shuttle, then Dukat came through the door with a satisfied grin on his face, dusting his hands off. He had the other Jem'Hadar's firearm slung over his shoulder.

'I see you got my message.'

'Your writing's terrible. And fortune's not female, by the way,' she muttered distractedly.

'Really? Hmm. It should be. It certainly is in Kardasi.'

'Well, it's not in Bajoran! And I don't see why it should be, just because _you_ say so.'

'Think about it. Fortune: fickle, beguiling, and capable of turning sane, rational men into slavish, jealous fanatics. Sounds female enough to me. Why do you think so many cultures speak of 'Lady Luck?' Anyway, you'll have to forgive me, my grasp of written Bajoran evidently isn't up to your exacting standards.'

He looked down at the unconscious Jem'Hadar lying by her feet and shook his head reproachfully, then unslung the rifle from his back and calmly vaporised the creature. Kira stared at him, shocked.

'What'd you do that for? It'll show up on the internal sensor logs!'

'Dead men tell no tales,' he remarked coolly, setting the rifle aside and collecting the abandoned headset. He put it on and went over to the pilot's console. That was obviously her out of a job. She dumped her rifle and parked herself on the stack of crates, trying to ignore the smell of incinerated Jem'Hadar hanging around in the cockpit.

'So what's our excuse for coming back with no escort?' she asked him. He shrugged.

'Sabotage the engine, erase the sensor logs and claim they were killed by a technical fault, of course. The flow regulators in the plasma manifold have a tendency to short out if you overload them, which is something we could easily exploit. With any luck, the engineer who did the pre-flight check will get the blame. Unfortunate for him, necessary for us.'

Oh, that remorseless Cardassian pragmatism. Use everything to your own advantage, no matter what it is, no matter if it means someone innocent will take the fall and die for it. She hated it.

'You'd use one of your own men as a scapegoat?'

'Like I said, unfortunate but necessary,' Dukat commented unconcernedly. Kira was astonished at his sang-froid; whenever she was forced to sacrifice one of her compatriots to carry out one of their plans, she was eaten up inside with guilt for weeks afterwards, feeling like a murderer.

'That really doesn't bother you in the slightest, does it?'

'Major, if I allowed myself to get emotionally involved in every decision I made, I'd have gone crazy a long time ago. The Cardassian conscience is a very flexible thing.'

Kira snorted disgustedly. Obviously he had the ability to distance himself from the atrocity of his actions, otherwise the Occupation might have been very different. No, he was Cardassian, he worked only for the will of the State and hang the consequences. Joy is vulnerability, and all that.

'Cardassians have consciences? News to me!' she muttered.

'I'd imagine it's news to a lot of Bajorans,' he commented dryly. 'Still, nothing like a violent and bloody war to encourage a bit of mutual understanding between rival species, hmm? Take us, for example – the bitterest of enemies for years, and now look at how our relationship has evolved: we're working for the same goals, sharing the same challenges... seeing eye to eye at last...'

He looked at her for a moment, flipping the headset aside to study her with both eyes. There was a kind of honesty to his gaze which was usually sublimated by something more lewd; it made her skin crawl slightly, but not in quite the same way it usually did. She shook herself free from the onerous task of trying to decipher exactly what it did make her feel, and he must have picked up on her confusion because the look was abruptly replaced with a mocking leer. Ah, that was more like the Dukat she hated so much, the Dukat to whom she'd never concede an inch.

'Dukat, we do not have a relationship, as I've made very clear on a number of occasions,' she snapped. 'Nor do I ever want to form one. I just want to get this done and put in for a transfer so I don't have to see you at all, let alone see eye-to-eye with you.'

'Oh, you're wrong,' he answered softly, a crooked smile on his lips. 'We do have a relationship, a complex, intense, fascinating one... We are destined for greatness, you and I! Can't you feel it?'

'Prophets, just how deluded are you?' she laughed, glad it came out as an ugly, raucous cackle. She didn't want to do or be anything attractive around him, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

'You can't stay away, Major, no more than I can. You know you won't apply for that transfer.'

She forced herself to keep a lid on her temper. Just get through it, Nerys, stay professional, then watch as Edon shoots his plans down. That'll wipe the smirk off his face.

'You watch me, Dukat. First chance I get, I am out of here.'

Dukat didn't answer as he put the headset back on and began to prepare for landing.


	10. Part 10: Bulletproof II

**A/N: **Come on, guys, I know _someone's_ reading this – and I really do value your input, because I'm getting nervous about where things are going. Approval prompts inspiration, disapproval prompts lots of editing and gnashing of teeth, but nothing prompts, er... nothing. Help me out?

**PART TEN: BULLETPROOF II**

_**I won't let you turn around and tell me now I'm much too proud**_

_**To walk away from something when it's dead**_

_**Do do do your dirty words come out to play when you are hurt**_

_**There's certain things that should be left unsaid**_

– _**La Roux**_

All too soon they were outside Shakaar's office, accompanied by a nervous security team who Dukat took great delight in glaring at until they looked away hastily. Kira knew they were watching her with him and thinking all sorts of things that made her cringe with shame. Bajor may have signed a paltry little string-and-chewing-gum treaty with the Dominion, but here she was actively cooperating with their Cardassian puppet, one of the most hated people in Bajoran history. It made her ears burn. Shakaar's personal assistant, the fatuous blonde airhead whom he'd thrown her over for, looked up from her desk, blanched at the sight of Dukat, then hurried through a whispered exchange with the security chief.

'The translators in the First Minister's office are offline right now for maintenance – perhaps you'd like to wait until they're fixed?' she squeaked. Dukat stepped just a bit too close to her, dwarfing her with his considerable height, and smiled predatorily. Kira couldn't resist a grin behind her hand; she'd hated the little trollop ever since she caught her in bed with Shakaar.

'That won't be a problem,' Dukat purred. 'Do show us in, we're in a hurry.'

The secretary, now visibly terrified, pressed a button on her console and announced them. The doors slid open and revealed Shakaar at his desk, surrounded by padds and evidently very busy. He looked up and frowned at the pair of them. He looked like he hadn't had a day off in weeks; his eyes were puffy and his hair had evidently had fingers run through it too many times. Kira entered the room somewhat apprehensively. She was dreading this. She and Shakaar hadn't spoken face to face since their rather acrimonious breakup last year, and now she was waltzing in here with Dukat, of all people; it wasn't going to be pleasant. Dukat, by contrast, strode in like he owned the place – which in his mind, he probably still did, she thought caustically.

'I apologise for not warning you of my visit in advance, First Minister Shakaar,' Dukat announced loudly, not sounding the least bit apologetic, 'but this really couldn't wait.'

His voice sounded peculiar actually coming out of his mouth in her language, rather than just being run through a translator; it was less polished and self-assured, less savage. It was not how she'd heard other Cardassians speak classical Bajoran, mangling the intonation, playing fast and loose with grammar, either out of ignorance or arrogance; Dukat seemed to have more than a passing fluency in the language and even, to her surprise, spoke with a faint Rekantha lilt, which she realised was more or less the same as Ziyal's accent. Shakaar looked at him curiously, then his eyes slid to her and she saw a mixture of suspicion, embarrassment and affection-gone-sour reflected in them. His face looked paler and flabbier than she remembered; obviously he'd been inside too much recently. It wasn't attractive.

'Nerys, good evening... what brings you here with Gul Dukat?' he enquired. She huffed. Him and his stupid questions! She sometimes wondered what she'd ever seen in him. No, she thought, I used to see a great deal in him, until he got sucked in by First-Ministering and its faceless bureaucracy, not to mention the young and nubile secretaries that apparently came with the office.

'I'm Bajoran Liaison to Deep Space N– excuse me, _Terok Nor_, aren't I?' she snapped. 'I've been ordered here. Believe me, if I had any choice this is the last place I'd be.'

'I see,' Shakaar said thoughtfully, his eyes travelling between her and Dukat. Kira shifted her weight from foot to foot impatiently, while Dukat merely stood with an infuriating little smirk on his face.

'_What_ do you see, Edon?' she snapped. Shakaar pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

'Nerys, please, don't pick a fight with me. Not now.'

'I agree with the First Minister, Major,' Dukat interrupted smoothly. 'We have far more important things to discuss than your romantic entanglements, fascinating as that subject is to me...'

'Alright, let's make this quick. I'm a busy man,' Shakaar grumbled. Dukat nodded.

'The Vorta facilitators are keeping you occupied, I take it. They are tiresome little creatures, aren't they? I bet you'd like to see the back of them. I certainly would.'

'Get to the damn point, Dukat, I don't have all day!'

'Ah, that Bajoran directness, how I've missed it! Very well. I have a proposal for you, Shakaar.'

Dukat leaned forward and rested his hands on Shakaar's desk. Kira was struck by the angles they made: Shakaar with his head tilted back to look up, Dukat a menacing but oddly graceful curve as he hemmed Shakaar in. She remembered Dukat once describing Shakaar as a 'lumbering, simplistic field-hand' and next to the Cardassian's dark lean figure, her old lover did seem exactly that; big, slow and not too bright. She was shocked at herself for making such an unflattering comparison. Shakaar was her friend, her mentor, her comrade – and while their romance had failed dismally, she still respected him a hell of a lot more than she did Dukat. But she couldn't deny what she saw.

'Bajor should join the Dominion,' Dukat said simply. Shakaar blinked, then burst out laughing. Kira smiled behind Dukat's back. Shakaar may have adopted the smooth, bland mannerisms of a career politician, but underneath he was still the defiant, charismatic leader she knew and looked up to. He wouldn't go along with this. Shakaar shook his head, still laughing.

'Oh, that's a good one, Dukat! You didn't seriously come all the way here to tell me _that,_ did you?'

Dukat merely smiled and straightened up, folding his arms impassively.

'I see you find my offer amusing. I admit, it is rather ironic that the man all you Bajorans seem to hold personally responsible for the entire Occupation is giving you a way to rebuild your planet. May I be perfectly honest?'

'Be my guest. If, of course, Cardassians are actually capable of honesty.'

'We just have a different concept of honesty to you... which I'm sure is a conversation for another time,' Dukat added hastily as Shakaar and Kira both looked daggers at him. He shrugged. 'The Federation are suffering. The Dominion have driven them back further and further into their own territory, and unless a miracle happens they'll be on their knees before too long. You're quite fond of the Federation, aren't you, Shakaar?'

'What's that got to do with anything?' Shakaar retorted, though his eyes had turned guarded.

'We – you and I, Cardassia and Bajor – can be that miracle. If Bajor joins the Dominion, _officially_ at least, that will force them to pull ships away from both Cardassia and the front lines to shore up their position here. They won't have enough resources to fully defend either of us, because the wormhole is still mined and I have no intention of letting their reinforcements get through, despite what you may have read in Major Kira's reports. If we both rise up against the Dominion at the same time, we will force them into the middle ground where the Federation and the Klingons will be waiting. Four against one is good odds, wouldn't you agree?'

Dukat stopped there and took a breath, perhaps struggling to translate his next sentence into Bajoran, but Shakaar jumped into the silence with a bitter snort.

'You're basically asking me to use Bajor as bait, to get Cardassia of the grave you dug for it,' he said flatly. 'You've obviously forgotten the last twenty-five years – lucky you. We Bajorans don't have that luxury.'

Kira was relieved beyond measure. She'd found herself beginning to get tangled up in this plan; it was closing over her head, getting under her skin, blocking out any possibility of an alternative – just like Dukat was. Now she was here with Shakaar, someone she knew like the back of her hand, she could get back to reality. She was a Bajoran Resistance fighter, a bold, uncompromising guerilla who'd rather die than agree to anything a Cardassian proposed. And for all that Shakaar was First Minister now, for all that he'd cheated on her, he was still her former cell leader and there was no one she trusted more than him when it came to making tough decisions.

'Why should I put my people at risk to help yours, after everything you've done to us?' Shakaar continued fiercely. Dukat sighed.

'Oh please, do you really need me to spell it out for you? In one-syllable words, perhaps?'

Shakaar just glared at him. Kira could see the tension crackling between them; both of these men were the leaders of their people, both were committed beyond all else to the survival of their own race, but other than that they were different as night and day. Shakaar was blunt, upright, honest almost to a fault – the quintessential Bajoran. Dukat, on the other hand, was the epitome of everything she hated most about the Cardassians: arrogant, unscrupulous, deceitful, an opportunist of the worst kind. Shoot him down, Edon, Kira willed her former lover silently. We didn't need him before and we don't need him now.

'Get out before I have you thrown out, Dukat,' Shakaar growled. He had got up from his chair and stood at his full height, which was a shade taller than Dukat; he was bigger and heavier, but the Cardassian was wily and wouldn't hesitate to fight dirty. If it ever came to blows, Kira had no idea who would win and a shameful part of her would really quite like to see it happen. No, she thought repressively, Edon would win of course, because I'd make sure he did. Dukat just laughed at Shakaar's angry protests.

'However did you make it this far in politics with a fuse as short as that? You wouldn't last a week back home,' he scoffed. Shakaar's face was gradually closing down into that blind, cold anger Kira knew so well, the anger of a Bajoran who's seen too many comrades die at Cardassian hands.

'I mean it. I'm not interested in your plan, and I'm getting sick of the sight of you. Now _leave_.'

'You obviously haven't caught on to the finer ramifications of my proposal,' Dukat sneered, 'so I'll make it easy for you. If you join me, we'll _all_ have the chance to get rid of the Dominion for good and expand into the Gamma Quadrant. If you don't, however, that only leaves me with one option: I attack alone, and whether I succeed or fail, the Dominion will come after Bajor. And to be perfectly frank, you're in no fit state to fight them off.'

'Oh, I wonder why? Could it be because _you_ stole our resources and destroyed our infrastructure?' Shakaar spat. Dukat shook his head, sighing.

'Sarcasm doesn't suit you Bajorans,' he remarked offhandedly. 'Besides, I thought you'd appreciate a way to repair some of the damage we caused in the Occupation – '

'I don't appreciate it coming from you, Dukat! I have absolutely no intention of simply trading one occupying force for another!'

'Even more reason to go along with my plan, then. The more you resist, the harder the Dominion will attack when the time comes – and believe me, it will come sooner or later. At least this way you can pick the time and place. Also,' Dukat broke off with a crafty smile on his face, 'have you thought about the leverage it will give you with the Federation? If you distract the Dominion, you'll be doing Starfleet and the Klingons a big favour. Could be useful one day.'

'I don't give a damn about _one day_!' Shakaar exploded. 'If you seriously think that I am going to risk Bajoran lives for _you_, then you're an even bigger fool than I thought you were!'

'We shall see who the real fool is, Shakaar. Think about it. I'm giving you a chance to benefit from this. If you want to throw it away, so be it, but you'll regret it before too long.'

'That's a risk I'm willing to take, Dukat,' Shakaar said coldly, 'and that's my final answer.' He poked a button on his desk. 'Security, this is the First Minister. Please escort Gul Dukat back to his ship.'

'Right away, sir,' came a relieved-sounding voice over the intercom. Dukat sighed.

'I assume you'll want to talk to the Major behind my back and turn her against me.'

'Turn me against you? It's hardly like I need encouragement!' snorted Kira. Dukat rolled his eyes with a humourless grin.

'Of course you don't. Well, don't let me stop you, I'm sure you two have a great deal to talk about. Major, it would be in your best interests to return to the shuttle within the hour. Otherwise I'll assume you've defaulted on our arrangement, and I will act accordingly.'

'An hour?' Shakaar demanded suspiciously. 'If you think I'm going to let you stroll around the place freely for an hour – '

'Oh come on, it's not as if I'm going to run amok and kill everybody. Amazing as it may seem to you, I actually have better things to do than massacring civil servants.'

Dukat's glib comments were clearly getting to Shakaar; luckily the Security detail arrived just then and tentatively escorted him outside. As soon as the door had closed, Shakaar rounded on Kira.

'What the hell is going on, Nerys? What have you two been cooking up?' he demanded, switching automatically to the Dakhur dialect they normally used. Kira felt like she'd been slapped.

'What d'you mean, _us two_? What exactly are you implying, Edon?'

She knew very well what he was implying, but she wanted to make him say it, just so he could hear how ridiculous and offensive it sounded.

'You're working with him, aren't you?' he asked accusingly.

'Only because he forced me to! Rom and I tried to sabotage the computer system to delay the work on the minefield, but for reasons I'd rather not go into right now,' she said bitterly, 'our plan failed and Rom got caught. Weyoun would have had both of us executed, but Dukat claims he persuaded him not to. In return for my help, he got Rom transferred to the penal colony on Bajor IV.'

'You scratch his back, he scratches yours? There's a word for people like that, Nerys. Collaborators.'

'How _dare_ you!' she gasped, lunging towards him. He stopped her easily, his face as cold and stony as she'd ever seen it.

'Prove it. Prove you're not doing this willingly.'

Kira was speechless. How could he even begin to think that? About _her_, the youngest and most committed member of his cell, the girl who'd given up everything she had to fight against the likes of Dukat – she'd even abandoned her own father on his deathbed to go on a mission, and he _dared_ call her a collaborator! She valued his honesty most of the time, but that was way below the belt.

'You should know me better than that by now, Edon,' she spat. 'You think I like this any more than you do? If you don't trust me, then transfer me somewhere else! Prophets know I'd appreciate one of the easy assignments once in a while!'

Shakaar gave her a long, hard look.

'I've got an easy assignment for you, Nerys. If you really hate Dukat as much as all that, then you shouldn't find it too hard to kill him. That's a sure-fire way of making sure the Dominion never come to Bajor; they wouldn't bother if he didn't suggest it. You know that.'

Kira stood still. Once she would have jumped at the chance to kill Dukat. But that was a simpler time, when they were the Resistance and he was Public Enemy #1. Part of her knew it was possible that he was simply concocting this elaborate ruse to get his hands on Bajor again, but it was a part that grew smaller as time went on. If he wanted to do that, he would have done it by now; there was nothing stopping him with the sheer brute force of the Dominion to back him up. Or maybe he was waiting until the reinforcements came through the wormhole? But if that was true, and he really did know how to get rid of the mines, Bajor would already be crawling with Jem'Hadar and Cardassian troops, treaty or no treaty. Shakaar stared at her expectantly.

'Well? Something the matter?'

'No,' she replied coolly. 'I'll have to think about how to do it.'

'Just make sure you do it. Sooner rather than later.'

'What if I get caught?'

'Don't get caught. I can't help you if you do; this is strictly off the record. You know the rules.'

Oh yes, she knew the rules alright: you never rat out a cell leader, not even under the most extreme duress. Shakaar was using her, just as Dukat was, only it hurt more coming from a friend than it did from a Cardassian. She'd expected nothing else from Dukat, but for Shakaar to drop her in it like this simply showed how expendable she really was to him, even after all they'd had together.

'Understood. I'll be going now, shall I? Since you're _obviously_ so busy and everything,' she sneered, directing a scornful look at the door to the outer office where the blonde secretary was stationed. Shakaar had the good grace to look embarrassed for a moment, but he quickly shrugged it off.

'I want regular reports, Nerys. I don't like Dukat being this close without knowing what he's up to.'

'Try being stuck on the station with him and his Dominion cronies! It's no picnic, I'm telling you.'

'Well, the sooner you get rid of him, the sooner those cronies will be gone. Have a safe trip back.'

And that was that, apparently. He was her First Minister, her leader, her comrade – he was supposed to defend her against Dukat's villainy, not accuse her of collaborating then give her some kind of suicide mission! Well, she thought viciously, that's the last time I trust him with anything.

'Don't trouble yourself with showing me out, _First Minister_, I know where the door is,' she snapped, then turned on her heel and left, fixing the unlucky secretary with a glare that could melt rock.


	11. Part 11: Doing It For A Thrill

**A/N:** This was the bit I was nervous about, but it's been burning a hole in my hard drive (and my brain!) ever since I wrote it. Thank you for the lovely reviews, they gave me the confidence to stop dithering and post it. Feedback is urgently required.

**A/N Supplemental: **Apologies for any errors/ridiculousness/scientific faux pas in the techno-babble – physics isn't exactly my strong point.

**PART ELEVEN: DOING IT FOR A THRILL**

_**We can fight our desires**_

_**But when we start making fires**_

_**We get ever so hot**_

_**Whether we like it or not**_

– _**La Roux**_

By the time she arrived back at the shuttle she'd worked up a blinding, white-hot migraine of fury. Prophets help anyone who annoyed her, because she'd flatten them – and if it was Dukat, then so much the worse for him. She slammed her way through the airlock door and found Dukat slumped gloomily on his pile of crates, a bottle of kanar in one hand. He looked up.

'So, what did you talk about with Shakaar?' he enquired, not sounding very interested. She snorted.

'How much of a bastard you are, of course.'

'In my experience, clever bastards live longer than noble idiots. He ordered you to assassinate me or something equally predictable, am I right?'

She was a hair's breadth from simply gaping at him. Oh, he knew _everything! _Shakaar was right, he was too clever and too dangerous to live. She summoned a defiant razor-blade smile.

'You think I need to be ordered to do that? Come _on_, Dukat.'

He shrugged and took a hefty swig of kanar, eyeing her impassively.

'I don't think you'll do it at all. We need each other, Major, as I keep reminding you.'

His arrogance made her itch. She thought again of her tempting vision of a world without him in it, then wondered if it'd be worth it, or whether it would only be a temporary fix. Knowing him, he'd find ways to mess her life up even from beyond the grave. She shook her head impatiently. Right now she'd do anything for any reason and damn the consequences. Do it now, whispered the little terrorist in her mind. Use this anger and shoot him dead. Turn that dial up all the way to sixteen and blast him into oblivion. She'd got as far as turning towards the rifle propped in the corner when she suddenly had a better idea. She'd make sure the Federation got their hands on him; he'd spend the rest of his miserable life in a cell, tormented by the knowledge that all his secrets had been dragged out of him and used to kill his people. Yes, that's what she'd do. She cut her eyes at him scornfully, the sinful-sweet taste of _I know something you don't know_ in the back of her mouth. She welcomed its cloying tendrils; he'd caused her more than enough bitterness over the years.

'I'd watch my back if I were you, Dukat. I might just stick a knife in it one of these days.'

'If _I_ were _you_, Major, I'd stop making threats like that,' he countered, but it had very little of its usual bite, as if he wasn't really paying attention. He waved the bottle at her absently. 'Weyoun is still convinced the Ferengi had an accomplice, and I might just have to confirm his suspicions. I do so want to trust you, but you're really not making it very easy.'

'I couldn't care less if you trust me or not!' she snarled, hating the way he looked at her with that remorse in his eyes. 'Your death at Bajoran hands is long overdue, Dukat, and the Prophets don't often leave loose ends flapping.'

'Ah, I see, you're going to kill me because your gods want you to. How very _Bajoran_,' Dukat sneered, evidently warming to the task of arguing with her. 'And what do you suppose Weyoun will think of that when he finds out? And he _will_ find out – subterfuge isn't exactly your long suit, is it?'

'I'm not interested in what Weyoun thinks of it! Besides, he has gods, doesn't he?' she retorted, though she knew it was probably a lousy argument. 'He does what they want, doesn't he?'

'Weyoun's, uh, _gods_,' Dukat's eye-roll told her just what he thought of the Vorta's chosen deities and she couldn't help but agree, 'would have him killed if he didn't do what they wanted. And he can actually see them, which is more than can be said for your Prophets.'

She glared at him, and he calmly met her eyes with a sarcastic tilt to his head.

'Going to accuse me of blasphemy, Major? That would imply that I believed in the gods I have sinned against, which is obviously not the case. Anyway, I doubt that a claim of divine intervention will convince Weyoun, although he is gullible and stupid. Besides, if you kill me he will simply take charge, and he won't grant you half the leeway I give you. I'm the lesser of two evils, if you really feel you must see me as evil.'

He got up and stretched his back with a sigh, then went over to the pilot's console and started the ignition sequence, jamming the eyepiece roughly over his head.

'Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get this miserable little ship in the air and then I am going to drink far more than is good for me. You're most welcome to participate, if you like kanar.'

Normally she'd turn him down and relish the momentary stab of disappointment that appeared on his face, but now she was in a reckless, savage mood which told her that alcohol would be a good idea. Even if it was with Dukat. Even if it was kanar.

'I hate it,' she muttered, 'but at the moment I'd drink anything, including bloodwine.'

She was rewarded by one of those broad, strangely guileless grins that meant he was pleasantly and genuinely surprised. A small part of her acknowledged that she rather liked that smile of his, but the rest of her forced it down hard. He only did it for effect, and he'd calculated the precise trajectory of that effect in order to get one over on everyone else. He was a cruel, remorseless killer to whom everything and everyone was fair game. He deserved only her contempt; she'd both sworn to and been ordered to kill him... and instead she was going to drink kanar with him. She sat down on his pile of crates, grabbed the bottle and downed a large gulp, savouring the acid burn in her throat even though it made her eyes water and her nose sting.

'This stuff really is disgusting, isn't it?'

'That's quite a good vintage, actually. You should have tried the swill we had on that Klingon rust-bucket, you could have cleaned warp coils with it.'

She idly took another swig, thinking about him limping around space in the cantankerous bird of prey, fighting a crazy kamikaze war against the entire Klingon Empire with a crew of disgraced former officers, unlucky greenhorns and the dregs of Cardassian society. Never knowing if the next day would be their last. Crawling back to DS9 every month or so, starving and grimy and exhausted with eyes full of the last moments of their dead comrades, desperate for any supplies that were going cheap. About how grateful he was that she'd offered to look after Ziyal – a Cardassian, _grateful_, to her. It simply didn't match up with what he'd done since. _He_ didn't match up... and now she was back to thinking about that damned shot yesterday, and all the other times she'd caught him off guard, when something cracked through those hateful masks of his and she couldn't help but stare, wondering about what would happen if he let it out for good. She dumped the bottle down with a frustrated sigh, the urge for some kind of candour almost overwhelming.

'Why did you betray us all, Dukat?'

'Oh, must we go over this again?' he complained, not turning around; she didn't notice, she was struggling to sort out what she intended to say.

'I really thought you'd changed after we found Ziyal,' she began, then she realised that was giving him far too much ground and quickly changed tack. 'Oh, sure, you were still insolent and sneaky, you still detached your conscience whenever it suited you, and you still talked way too much – '

'I was still Cardassian, you mean – '

'Don't interrupt me!' she snarled. He turned around, evidently a little taken aback.

'I'm sorry. Go on.'

'When you turned renegade to fight the Klingons all by yourself, I really thought you'd found a shred of decency – you know, doing something that was more than just for your own benefit. But Miles is right, leopards don't change their spots. You'll never be anything but a cold-hearted, ruthless Cardassian bastard, and I'm sorry I ever thought otherwise,' she finished bitterly.

'I'm glad you did think otherwise. It shows my efforts were not entirely wasted, I suppose.'

She wished she hadn't brought it up. This was such a bad idea. Admitting she'd ever seen anything in him that she didn't hate was simply giving him a way in to her mind, which he'd proceed to trample all over with that singular arrogance of his. He flipped the headset out the way and looked at her carefully, evidently trying to work out what to say.

'Tell me something,' he said. She grimaced. Here goes. She'd flung the door wide and now he was going to barge in and make himself at home in her psyche without even bothering to wipe his boots. But she was the one who'd opened the door in the first place; if she slammed it in his face now, he'd know exactly how much of an impact he was beginning to have on her – which was arguably worse. At least this way she might have some hope of unbalancing him as much as he unbalanced her.

'What's that?'

'Why do you waste your energy railing against something that will never be any different?' he asked gently. 'We were on opposite sides in the Occupation and we can't change that however much we want to. I'm Cardassian, you're Bajoran, that's never going to change either. But that's not all we are, is it?'

His line of attack was different every time – sometimes indignant, sometimes humorous, sometimes even a semblance of deeper and more genuine feelings which were obviously dragged out of the dress-up box especially for the occasion – but the target was always the same, it was always her. He was a good shot, too; some of the things he said and did, or maybe didn't do, hit perilously near the mark. But she'd spent a long time fighting him and his kind, and the hard-talking, aggressive exterior she'd developed was as tough as duranium, or so she liked to think. She glared at him.

'To me that's all you are, a Cardassian. You might think you're other things, but I can't see past all the Bajoran blood on your hands.'

'Can't, or won't?'

'What's the difference?'

'The difference between ignorance and denial? You tell me, Major.'

Damn him for always having the last word. He turned back to the helm and engaged the autopilot, then hung the headset on the side of the console and sat on the floor at her feet, reaching for the kanar and drinking several swift measures without a word. She realised he must be upset; normally nothing short of a blow to the head could make him shut up. He obviously hadn't expected Shakaar to react like that, but then, she scoffed at him in the privacy of her mind, what did you expect, Dukat? You spent over twenty years turning Bajor into a living hell, you must have known you didn't have a leg to stand on. But then he probably didn't know that, did he? His arrogance blinded him to the way other people really saw him; if he thought he was right, he automatically assumed that everyone else would fall into step behind him. She wondered if he was born that way, or developed it over a long time of having his orders obeyed. Then she decided she didn't want to know. The less she knew about him the better, and also the less he knew about her the better – if indeed there was anything the Cardassian spy networks and his own inquisitive nature hadn't found out already, which she doubted. Oh, how she would gloat when she saw him arrested and thrown in a Federation brig. Starfleet wouldn't execute him, although he richly deserved it; instead he'd be forced to accept their mercy and live out the rest of his life in some penal colony building roads or mining ore, and he'd hate that even worse. She looked over at him. His silence was beginning to unnerve her. He was cross-legged on the floor, chin in one hand, nearly empty kanar bottle in the other. He looked up at her briefly and his eyes were unusually dull and lacklustre.

'I wish Shakaar had listened,' he muttered. 'I don't want anything to happen to Bajor, but if my plan works out the Dominion will be looking for a new conquest. And if it doesn't work, I will have made it blatantly obvious that Cardassians cannot be trusted, so the Dominion will simply massacre us... and move onto a new conquest. Bajor is right in the firing line whichever way you look at it.'

'Should have thought of that before you jumped into bed with the Founders, then, shouldn't you?' Kira sniped automatically, even as she realised that this was one of those strangely disarming moments of honesty, that in some twisted way he really did care about Bajor. He snorted.

'That is not an image I want in my head, thank you,' he quipped half-heartedly. 'And if you think I _jumped into bed with the Founders,_' his face twisted in distaste, 'without a great deal of thought and deliberation – and an equal amount of reluctance – you really don't know much about me, do you?'

'What makes you think I want to know _anything_ about you? Besides, you tell me more than enough without me even having to ask!'

'And why do I do that, Major?' he said with a sudden lupine grin. 'Could it be because you _do_ ask? You don't _say_ it, of course, because that would be fraternizing with the enemy or something equally blinkered and ignorant, but really, it's written all over your face – '

She got off the crates furiously and bent close to him, using the fact that she was higher than he was to lean into him and block out his personal space, just as he did to her. Oh, he pushed her buttons and she responded like a well-tuned engine, try as she might to rise above it. He was too much.

'You're obviously not very good at reading faces, then, are you?' she snarled, the kanar singing through her veins making her hot and irrational. 'Can you read _this_?'

He blocked her swing and tried to grab her arm; his refusal to hit her in return annoyed her even more. She launched herself at him, knocking him onto his back, and sat on his midriff. She hit him in the face but he forced her arms to her sides before she could get another punch in. She struggled hopelessly like an eel for a few seconds, his armour digging painfully into her thighs, while he simply lay there under her, laughing, panting, bleeding from the corner of his mouth. That infernal grin! She ground the sharp heel of her boot into his knee; he hissed in pain and let go of her arms for a second, which was all the time she needed to pin his hands down either side of his head, driving his wrists into the rough steel of the deck-plates. They were both out of breath, her heart was racing, and she could see the pulse beating in his neck. She couldn't take her hands off his arms to hit him, so she settled for jabbing her heel into his leg again. He just looked at her.

'You appear to have me at your mercy, Major... I must say, this is practically indecent assault...'

'Shut up! Just _shut up_ for once in your life!' she growled. He raised a mocking eyeridge at her, and he was _still_ smiling! It made her see red. She crushed his wrists under her fingers, feeling the cool dry scales crinkle slightly under her pressure, the strangely frail bones of his forearms.

'One of these days I'll kill you, Dukat,' she spat. 'I swear I will.'

He shook his head, smile fading, and raked her face with a gaze like a phaser beam.

'And then what will you do? Will you be at peace, or will you just find something else to hate?'

It was the gentleness of his voice that disarmed her the most. The way he let her hurt him and offered no resistance, simply lay there defenceless and looking up at her with those eyes the colour of a Bajoran summer sky. She could see things reflected in them that made all the fight leave her; she simply hung there for a minute over him, staring, speechless. He smelt of hair-oil and armour, the dark acidity of kanar, the hot mineral tang of blood that stained the corner of his mouth, and something else – a faint, elusive scent as heady and intoxicating as spring wine. It made her head reel slightly, and all of a sudden she was rocking backwards into his lap as he sat up, her knees either side of his waist and his hands gripping her around the hips. She could feel the heat coming off him in waves, she could feel her own shortness of breath and her suddenly sweaty palms which lay uselessly on his shoulders and her jumping, skittering heartbeat, all mixed up with the smell of him, the hard strength of his arms, the grey, angular, impossibly familiar face with its too-bright eyes so close to her own. She knew she should get out, push him away, hit him again, anything but this almost painful nearness – but she couldn't find it in her to move, or speak, or do anything at all. She couldn't even remember who he was and what he'd done, because it didn't matter; all that mattered was his hands on her waist and her gaze locked to his like a fish on a hook. They hung there, the two of them, so delicately balanced, then he smiled; a tender, wary little lopsided smile with all his shields down that made something inside her feel bruised.

'Let it go, Nerys. Stop hating. Stop hurting yourself.'

Oh, the way he said her name – Prophets help her, it was too much. She felt like someone else was guiding her hand as she lifted it and carefully wiped the thread of blood from his mouth. Then, not knowing why, only that she wanted to, she traced the half-circle of ridge around his left eye, the tiny scales soft and smooth under her fingers. His eyes flickered shut for a moment and he pulled her closer; she was now flush against him, his mouth an inch from hers... she closed her eyes...

If he hadn't shifted just then and caused the crest of his armour to poke into her, she would have done it. That brief flash of pain flipped the world into ice-cold focus – she was, oh Prophets, she was about to... She couldn't even begin to think about it. She shoved him away with both hands against his sternum, knocking him onto his back again; his head hit the deck with a clang and he let out an 'ugh!' of surprise and pain. Hair disordered, he gaped at her from his ungainly position on the floor as she got to her feet, not looking at him. Her hands were _not _shaking. She _didn't_ feel somehow bereft at the loss of his touch – absolutely not. Her instincts had _not_ been telling her to listen to him, to give in and let go and stop all the hurt by meeting his lips with her own. No way.

'If hurting myself is the price I have to pay for hurting you, I'll gladly pay it,' she said, hating the fact that it took her several breaths and a trembling voice, ignoring the voice inside her trying to force different words out of her mouth – shameful, un-Bajoran words. 'Because as long as you're still here, I'll never have any peace.'

He simply stared at her, mouth slightly open. The heat from his gaze was unbearable. She got up and walked into the back part of the shuttle, desperately trying to get herself under control.

'Nerys,' he began, but she refused to look back at him; she whacked the door control, not missing his muttered curse as it slid shut. She leaned against the wall and sank down in a crouch, hands covering her face as if to shield herself, but there was no shield against what assailed her. How could she have been so _stupid?_ What was she _thinking?_ No, that was the problem, she wasn't thinking at all. Instead she acted off that impulsive, reckless streak so common among Bajorans, that streak that made it so easy for the Cardassians to mess them around for so many years – and that's what he'd done, he'd messed her around; with a few little words he'd turned her upside-down and fool that she was, she hadn't seen it coming, _again_. He didn't make you react like that, though, did he, Nerys, that cold little voice of reason said in her head. That was all you. She ignored it; she was not a reasonable person. The luxury of being reasonable had been taken from her a long time ago by people like him_._ How dare he knock down all her walls like that, just by saying her name in that damned smoke-and-velvet voice of his – and worse, how dare she let him?

'You can't stay in there forever,' he called from the other side of the door, the jaunty note in his voice suggesting that he'd regained his composure much faster than she had. She merely directed a string of the foulest insults she knew at him, wondering if the Dominion translators would pick them up and bowdlerise them; his cackle of laughter told her that they hadn't, and also that his Bajoran was good enough to understand every obscene word.

'Major, as much as I enjoy being on the receiving end of your _impressive_ vocabulary, there is still a lot of work to do before we reach Terok Nor which I will need your help with.'

Damn him. How was she going to face him, after that display? His delight at her discomfort, at knowing that she'd enjoyed it just as much as he had, despite her frequent protestations that she would never enjoy anything that involved him, made her furious enough to throw caution to the winds and barge right out there. The sight and the smell of him did affect her, as she knew they would, but she clamped down on them mercilessly and fixed him with her stoniest stare.

'Dukat, I'm only going to say this once. That will _never_ happen again. Do I make myself clear?'

'Perfectly,' he answered with a mocking half-bow, though there was a spark in his eyes that she didn't like at all. He indicated the headset which once again adorned his face.

'We'll be within sensor range of the station in about fifteen minutes, so I suggest we get on with sabotaging this ship in a convincing manner.'

She glared at him, but he only grinned.

'I thought you'd enjoy the chance to make a mess of Dominion property. I certainly will. Come on, we don't have much time. You short out the flow regulators once we drop to impulse, I'll see if I can scramble the sensor logs enough to cover our tracks.'

She went to the engine control hatch and wrenched it open, glad to have an excuse to turn her back on him, but wrestling with the unfamiliar workings of the shuttle did little to improve her mood. As she fought her way through plasma conduits, phase coils, power relays and Prophets only knew what else, she was sure she could feel his eyes on her back, travelling obscenely down her body. She swung round, whacking her elbow hard on the edge of the console as she did so.

'Stop staring at me, you – ' she began furiously then broke off, embarrassed; he had his head under the communications console and quite obviously hadn't been staring at her. He snorted.

'Major, shouting at me won't achieve anything... Alright, I'm finished here, what about you?'

'Ready,' she muttered, turning back to the hatch and quickly wiring in the last few patch-cords between a flux capacitor and what she hoped was the manifold valve. Dukat took the helm.

'Right. Returning to warp... _now_.'

It was probably just as well that she didn't know much about Dominion warp technology, because the explosion would have been catastrophic if she had known exactly what she was doing. As it was her more or less arbitrary cross-patching, bypassing, uncoupling and jerry-rigging produced a blast from the plasma feed that rocked the ship and sent her reeling backwards. Amid the blaring warnings and flashing lights, they staggered to the back of the shuttle to inspect their handiwork. The engine was horrendous; a hot, reeking hell of smoke and fumes and bright green plasma flares from at least three ducts, another exploding right before their eyes and showering the whole compartment with sparks. Dizzy and half-blind with the fumes, Kira lunged towards the front of the shuttle but the ship gave another lurch and she staggered; Dukat caught her almost automatically and steered her away from the fire, the closeness of him making her head spin even more than the fumes. This was ridiculous; she was stuck on a shuttle that was about to blow up and all she could think about was _him_? What the hell was the _matter_ with her?

'Get off me! I can walk just fine!' she snarled, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by a sudden lungful of fumes which made her cough and choke. He ignored her feeble protests until his arms gave out, then dumped her down unceremoniously on the crates where she simply folded into a wheezing heap, cursing herself for her weakness. Over all the noise and smoke and her streaming eyes she heard him shouting down the comm to the station, then felt the familiar freezing sensation of being enveloped in a transporter beam.


	12. Part 12: A Pain That I'm Used To

**A/N: **Sorry for the long delay between chapters: I've just started a new job and the hours are ridiculous – barely a spare minute to myself these days. Still, I managed to sit down and bash this out over the weekend. Could be the last one for a little while, so enjoy it!

**A/N Supplemental:** This may be slightly rough around the edges because it's 4am here and my eyes have gone funny from too much editing. If I've made any glaring errors, please point them out and I'll fix them in a repost if I have time. Ta muchly.

**PART TWELVE: A PAIN THAT I'M USED TO**

_**All this running around, well it's getting me down**_

_**Just give me a pain that I'm used to**_

_**I don't need to believe all the dreams you conceive**_

_**You just need to achieve something that rings true**_

– _**Depeche Mode**_

Even with the environmental controls set to Cardassian standards, Ops felt blessedly cool as she found herself slumped on the transporter pad next to Dukat. Weyoun, Damar and assorted personnel were standing in a ring around them. Kira scrambled to her feet and shook her head, trying to clear the dizziness from it. Her eyes were still watering and there was a vile metallic taste at the back of her throat, but she could at least breathe now. She felt Dukat's hand on her back in a gesture of support that she resented; she shrugged him off and stood up ramrod-straight, ignoring the sing of blood in her ears and the black spots that danced before her eyes.

'What happened, sir?' Damar asked Dukat.

'The plasma manifold overloaded again and caused a fire,' Dukat answered airily. 'Really, Weyoun, I'd have thought the Dominion, with all your supposedly advanced technology, would be able to design a warp drive that doesn't explode at the least provocation! The Major and I barely got out alive, and our escort didn't stand a chance.'

Weyoun's face turned stony at Dukat's casual insults, but he quickly recovered and became oily and insincere once more.

'I shall look into the matter immediately. What of your meeting with the Bajoran First Minister?'

'Let's just say I shall have to try again once he's had some time to, ah, think it over.'

Kira seized her chance to make Dukat look like a fool in front of Weyoun, and snorted indelicately.

'He won't change his mind, Dukat, you'd be wasting your time. We signed a non-aggression pact with the Dominion but there is no way in hell we'll do anything else. You know, I'm not sure why you bothered going all the way to Bajor when I could have given you the same answer right here!'

'I do not recall asking for your opinion, Major Kira,' Weyoun said coldly, 'but I'm sure Gul Dukat will do his best to persuade your people of their... _opportunity_. The Founder is getting impatient, Dukat – we need results, fast. As for the mine field...'

'We're still working on it!' Dukat snapped. 'Now really, can't all this wait until morning?'

'There is still the matter of the shuttle's warp drive,' Weyoun continued, arching one eyebrow delicately. 'I thought all vessels went through pre-flight checks?'

'Obviously whoever did the check this time was careless,' Dukat said with a shrug, then turned to his first officer. 'Damar, find out who it was and tell him to be in my office first thing tomorrow.'

Weyoun smiled with the air of a cat who had just cornered a plump mouse and has every intention of toying with it as long as possible. Kira realised vaguely how similar Vorta and Cardassians truly were, and stood up even straighter. She hated the lot of them. _Especially_ the one next to her.

'I thought Cardassians didn't get careless? I thought you prided yourselves on being thorough?'

'We, unlike you Vorta, actually develop our own personalities rather than just having them programmed into us, so there _are_ natural variations. Which unfortunately include carelessness.'

'You, assemble a salvage detail and examine that debris,' Weyoun ordered a nearby Jem'Hadar, then turned back to Kira and Dukat with a bright, sugary smile on his pale face. 'Let's see what the telemetry from the black-box recorder reveals about this... _accident_, shall we?' he enquired gleefully. Dukat drew himself up, every inch portraying indignant pride.

'What exactly are you implying, Weyoun?' he snarled. Kira wondered what he had done about the black-box on the ship; she hadn't even realised there was one, but it would stand to reason that since their alliance with the Cardassians, the Dominion would have installed extra monitoring devices to keep watch on people who weren't genetically engineered to obey the Founders. She wondered how much it had picked up. From the set of Dukat's shoulders and the arch of his neck-ridges as he reared his head forward, he hadn't done anything about it and he was backed into a corner. Which meant they were both dead if it was recovered intact. Not the way she'd have wanted to go, but she could at least be consoled by the fact that she'd take him down with her – which didn't help much.

'Nothing at all, of course,' Weyoun demurred, raising placating hands. 'I was merely _suggesting_ that we should not rule out foul play or sabotage. There has been a lot of that kind of thing recently, after all...' Here he shot a glance at Kira, who glared stonily back. She knew he knew already and he was just playing with them. She wondered how Dukat felt about having his own tricks used on him, and then wondered why she was thinking about how he felt. Weyoun examined his nails for a moment before continuing: 'I do find it odd that two Jem'Hadar were completely obliterated in this plasma fire of yours, yet you and the Major are virtually unharmed...' His eyes flickered to the bruise on Dukat's face that Kira's fist had left. Dukat folded his arms with a hiss of annoyance.

'Weyoun, is there a point to all this?'

'No, no, just an idle observation.'

'In that case, you can save any further _observations_ until I've had a few hours' sleep. Major Kira also needs to go to the infirmary to be treated for smoke inhalation.'

Dukat barged rudely past Weyoun, using his height against the diminutive Vorta, then realised Kira was still standing there and turned back. Kira shrugged and went after him, feeling Weyoun's suspicious gaze following her as she joined Dukat in the turbolift and they slid out of view.

'What do we do about the black-box?' Kira muttered.

'I'll come up with something,' Dukat answered shortly. 'I was not aware they were installed on scout ships as well as heavy cruisers. Still, I very much doubt they'll find it in all that wreckage... but if they do...' He tailed off, unable to finish his sentence, and Kira eyed him scornfully.

'Sounds like you've got a lot to think about, huh?' she needled him, partly to grant some release from the burning headache that was currently drilling through her skull. Being trapped in close quarters with him wasn't helping either; her body had almost betrayed her once already today and she did not intend to give it another opportunity, but the proximity was almost unbearably distracting. The lift slid to a stop at the Promenade and Dukat turned to her, unsmiling.

'I will see you tomorrow, Major. Do go and get yourself checked over, you don't look at all well.'

'I'm fine,' she snapped, resenting the flicker of concern in his eyes. She squeezed out of the turbolift, trying not to touch him, and strode down the Promenade towards the infirmary where a surly Cardassian medic was on duty. He certainly wasn't Bashir, but he could at least sort out this damn headache of hers.

As she returned to her quarters ten minutes later, she realised that the only good thing to come out of this catastrophe of a day was that she'd managed to give Dukat a few more bruises. The rest of it... well, she just knew she wasn't going to get much sleep tonight. Not when she still remembered his hands around her waist and the scales of his eyeridge under her fingers, not when she couldn't deny that it had felt good, far better than it had any right to. She'd been so close to him. To giving into him. To believing what she saw written in his eyes as she pinned him down and hurt him and he didn't hurt back. She'd never willingly touched a Cardassian before, and she hadn't imagined them to be capable of such gentleness, such restraint; it would have almost made more sense if he'd forced her, simply overpowered her with his greater mass and strength and taken what he lusted after. She'd expected nothing else from him in such a situation. But no, he'd laid all his cards on the table in plain sight, offered it all up, then waited for her to take it; she'd felt him wanting her, _needing_ her to take it, yet he left the decision up to her. And however hotly she denied it after the fact, she knew how close she'd come to taking what he offered. She hated herself for it. It felt like a betrayal of everything she'd promised herself and her people – the easiest, least painful betrayal she could ever imagine. It would have been so effortless to give in, to let down all her shields just as he had done; he was beginning to fascinate her, bewilder her and generally take up far too much of her head-space, and the more she saw of him the less she understood. She still didn't entirely trust his plans or his motives, but she was starting to realise that there was more to him than she had thought, a lot more – and she wasn't sure she could deal with that. Judging from her performance earlier, she couldn't deal with it. He was right: every time she tried to hurt him she ended up hurting herself, just because he gave in without a fight. He didn't even have to do anything; every time she put the rope around his neck she managed to hang herself with it, while he watched and probably had a good laugh about it in the privacy of his own head. She couldn't very well blame him for it, either; he'd done nothing but give in to her, and that was even more infuriating.

Damn him for constantly surprising her, while still being everything she knew him to be! Damn her, too, for always reacting in the wrong way to him. She'd never met anyone else who had the ability to unbalance her so thoroughly with such simple actions. There was only one thing she knew – there was far more going on here than she'd dared acknowledge. She was already up to her neck in this; now, part of her wanted to go deeper, to let it close right over her head. It had to stop. From now on she'd give him nothing, and if he tried to take she'd simply walk away, as she should have been doing all along. She needed Odo. Actually, she needed more than Odo. She needed things to go back to the way they were a few years ago, when all she had to worry about was the occasional drunken Nausicaan or malfunctioning replicator. When she finally felt like she could move on with her life and actually enjoy herself after all the horrors of the Occupation. When she had friends and allies, when the Cardassians were simply an annoyance on the other end of a comm-line and the Dominion was nothing more than a vague name on Gamma Quadrant traders' lips.

But now she couldn't even have Odo. _He_ was the one who'd forced her into all this. If he hadn't failed her and Rom, she never would have had to strike this devil's-pact with Dukat, she never would have had to go to Bajor with him... and she never would have had to think about what so nearly happened today. And now she had to kill him. Trouble was, she was growing more and more certain that she shouldn't – and not just because of this plan of his which, if he was gone, would either snowball into something dangerous and uncontrollable, or be strangled at birth by whoever took over as the new leader of Cardassia. Better the devil you know.

She found herself praying, again, and found herself completely lost, again. Only this time a secret, shameful corner of her prayed for something the rest of her brain could hardly bear to think about: she prayed that what she'd seen in Dukat's eyes as he lay on the floor was the truth, not just another of those masks that he was so good at wearing and she was so bad at seeing through. She didn't know what would happen if that prayer got answered, and she was almost afraid of finding out.

Although he desperately needed it, Dukat did not go to sleep after he had escaped from Weyoun's thoroughly unpleasant debriefing session. Instead he went to Quark's, gave the Ferengi an earful for trying to offer him some odious beverage 'on the house', and found a quiet table in the corner out of the way of all the Jem'Hadar and Bajorans as well as his own men. None of them knew what he was thinking about, how horribly wrong his plan was starting to go. He probably could have dealt with Shakaar a little better, but then, he mused, that had always been his problem with Bajorans; however he tried to approach them, they fought like cornered animals and gave him nothing but knee-jerk and viciousness, biting the offered hand without even bothering to look at what it held. If only they made the effort to _look_ properly! But he knew that would never happen, not to him at any rate. Unlike a woefully large number of his compatriots, he did not think of the Bajorans as a lesser race, far from it. They were simply a different race with different ways of doing things, and his predecessors in the Occupation had made a catastrophic error when they had tried to subjugate, rather than negotiate and – if necessary – manipulate. Feisty, proud, obstinate races with countless millennia of tradition behind them never reacted well to threats, yet Central Command had pressed on with the offensive, believing that they could simply wear the Bajorans down with sheer force – and by the time he'd become Prefect it was decades too late to alter anyone's perspective. Decades too late to persuade Central Command to rethink their strategy, too; they'd vowed to take Bajor by military might alone, and they'd destroy it before they renounced that vow in favour of a more sensible (and attainable) goal. Dukat knew what he'd have done in their place; he'd thought about it often, with a great deal of frustration. Why be as crude as a bunch of Klingons when subtlety and restraint were more effective, less unpleasant and claimed fewer lives? Still, he rebuked himself, what's the point of trying to change the past when the present is about to blow up in your face? Obviously Shakaar's cooperation could be dismissed as nothing more than a pipe dream, which left him with a deep feeling of dread about Bajor's safety – more lives around his neck, more reasons to be hated for circumstances which were entirely beyond his control and which he could only protest about in a whisper, in case anyone overheard. Not for the first time, he wished things had turned out differently between Bajor and Cardassia. The Bajorans would have learned some discipline and rationality, and his own people – just maybe – might have learned a little freedom.

Also not for the first time, he was fervently glad that neither his own race nor any of the Dominion species were telepathic.

He dragged himself out of the past and concentrated on his plan, which was beginning to feel like he was holding a lit firecracker and the fuse was getting shorter and shorter; sooner or later it would explode, and if he wasn't careful it would go off in his hand. He was left with two options: let Bajor fend for itself and focus on freeing Cardassia little by little from the Dominion's control, or arrange some sort of ceasefire with the Federation in exchange for information. His scales itched at the very idea of being beholden to Starfleet for anything. He couldn't stand their insufferable holier-than-thou attitude, their crazy notion that pussyfooting around some deadbeat's _rights as an individual_ was morally superior to devising a plan which would help millions of deadbeats in the long run, and above all he hated their unbelievable hypocrisy, loudly proclaiming their exemplary tolerance and acceptance of other races and cultures (Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations, hah!) while sneakily imposing their own values all over the place and before you knew it you were thinking of the Terrans' dismal little homeworld as the centre of the universe. He had to hand it to them; that was truly insidious. Whoever was pulling all the strings in their propaganda department must be a mastermind. It would be a black day for Cardassia when he was forced to ask for the Federation's help with anything, never mind admitting he'd bitten off more than he could chew, but it was looking increasingly likely that he'd have to do it. How Nerys would laugh at him for it: Skrain Dukat, schemer extraordinaire, tangled in his own web! He shook himself free of thoughts about her; now was most definitely not the time. Later he'd shut the door on the world and think of her. He hit his wrist-comm.

'Dukat to Damar – are you busy at the moment?'

'Nothing that can't wait, sir,' his first officer's voice answered, clear and efficient as always but tinged with that faint, undeniable hint of bewilderment that seemed to grow more and more present each day. Oh, Damar, you have every right to be bewildered, Dukat thought sadly. Just don't let bewildered lead to resentful.

'We need to talk about this minefield problem of ours. I think I've discovered a... complication, of sorts. Where's Weyoun?'

'In his office. Should I notify him?'

Dukat nearly laughed. Yes, invite Weyoun along to a secret meeting in which I reveal that I'm considering betraying him to Starfleet. Good grief, if the situation gets any worse I may as well just broadcast it all over subspace and be done with it, he mused glumly. Why delay the inevitable?

'No, don't worry about him for now. Meet me on the Promenade in five minutes.'

Damar was understandably confused when Dukat led him to the disused storage bay in which he'd spoken to Kira a few days ago, but unlike Kira he didn't kick up a fuss, instead he simply waited patiently while Dukat paced up and down, his boots raising clouds of dust from the dirty floor.

'Damar, do you remember what I said to you yesterday about allies in unlikely places? You can speak freely in here, we can't be overheard.'

'I remember what you said, sir,' Damar said carefully, eyes giving away nothing. Dukat nodded.

'Then you will perhaps have guessed that the reasons I gave Weyoun for my little trip to Bajor this afternoon weren't entirely honest.'

Damar looked curiously at him, all the guard gone from his eyes.

'You mean you don't want to take over Bajor again?'

'Not in so many words, no. At least, not in the way you think.'

Dukat wondered if he was doing the right thing. Damar had been loyal to him ever since those first miserable days on the Groumall, and as far as he could tell this loyalty was not just lip-service to whoever happened to be in command at the moment, but you could never be too careful; he'd made the mistake of being overly trusting before, and it had ended in his father's death at the hands of Garak and the Obsidian Order. Damar was nothing like Garak, it was true, but if there was even a chance that Damar wasn't a hundred percent behind him, Dukat had just signed his own death-warrant – because if any of this got back to Cardassia, there'd be so many contenders for his position that they'd have to organise some sort of assassination rota. Damar shook his head, evidently confused and a little uneasy.

'Why go and talk to Shakaar, then? I don't understand.'

'Allies in unlikely places, Damar. My real reason for seeing Shakaar was to enlist his help; if I had managed to persuade him that _officially_ joining the Dominion would deflect some of the attention away from Cardassia, we could have mobilised the fleets and attacked the Jem'Hadar from the back while the Federation kept them busy on the front lines. However, Shakaar was... _Bajoran_ about it.'

'Blind and pig-headed, you mean?' Damar snorted. 'Typical. They have no understanding or interest in anything that's not part of their stupid prophecies. You'd have been better off trying to bargain with the Federation!'

Dukat shrugged and swallowed hard on the uncharacteristic panic that threatened his composure, trying to appear as blasé as possible. If joy was vulnerability, then fear was standing very still in the middle of a rifle range with a big target painted on your back.

'As it happens, that was what I wanted to talk to you about.'

'You're not serious,' Damar said uncertainly, then his eyes slid to meet Dukat's and his mouth fell open. He looked shocked and slightly disgusted, but, Dukat noted with relief, there was no trace of that triumph that an ambitious young Cardassian feels when his superior slips up and inadvertently reveals some incriminating information. He cocked his head half-nonchalantly.

'An old Terran proverb comes to mind, Damar. Better the devil you know.'

Damar shifted uncomfortably; he had evidently envisaged a bold, masterful plan in which the Dominion were vanquished in one fell swoop and Cardassia could stand up proudly once more with all the other powers in the quadrant looking on in awe and fear, the winner at a kotra tournament. But this was a long way from the civilised atmosphere of the kotra board, where you always had time to calculate your next move and being wrong didn't mean a bullet in the head. Damar, who did not serve on the front lines against either Bajor or the Federation, was only just beginning to realise what being at war actually meant, and it was a hard lesson for anyone raised in the ideological strait-jacket that was Cardassian society. An unlikely ally was better than no ally, and within every bad situation was a benefit of some kind – if you could just get free enough of the strait-jacket to look around and see for yourself.

'Forgive me for being impertinent, sir, but I thought the reason for allying ourselves with the Dominion was to _avoid_ having to ask the Federation for handouts,' Damar pointed out.

'Refuse one collective of planets whose primary goal is to take over everything and everyone they come into contact with, in favour of a similar but more bloodthirsty one?' Dukat asked dryly, raising his eyeridges. Damar shuffled his feet, looking a bit sheepish.

'Well, when you put it like that...'

'The reason for allying with the Dominion was to show them how wrong it is to underestimate Cardassians. It's not about outgunning your enemies, it's about outsmarting them. Anyone can win a battle with a bit of luck, even if their tactics are terrible, but turning your enemies' own plans against them will make them think twice before crossing us again. Besides, we won't be _asking for handouts_ from the Federation, we'll be giving them that opening they need against the Dominion which they wouldn't get otherwise. They need us, Damar, and that means we're calling the shots.'

Damar seemed convinced, and Dukat wished he could believe it himself – but deep down he knew he'd screwed up with Shakaar, and rather than a planned, calculated double-cross, it would simply look like he got cold feet at the last minute and came crawling back to the rest of the Alpha Quadrant powers with his tail between his legs. Not to mention the damn black box recorder from the shuttle; Weyoun was suspicious already, and that had just handed it to him on a plate.

'It goes without saying that if Starfleet are going to trust us, work on the minefield has to stop. We need some kind of distraction around here, Damar – something that will buy me some time, just a day or two. I don't care what it is, as long as it's believable and it works. Pick a fight with the Jem'Hadar if you must, as long as nobody actually gets killed. Is that clear?'

'Crystal,' Damar answered with a grin which made Dukat consider revoking that last order, just to avoid some of the mess and paperwork that a major dust-up between his men and the Jem'Hadar would produce. That quiet, focused intelligence of Damar's went out the nearest airlock when there was drinking or fighting to be done, and Dukat knew full well that whatever havoc his men caused would bounce back on him. Still, he'd rather Weyoun thought he was incompetent and unable to keep order than discover the truth about why discipline suddenly became so lax. He nodded.

'Good. Dismissed.'

'Yes sir. May I ask, what _really_ happened on that shuttle?' Damar asked as he made his way to the door, a conspiratorial smirk on his face. Dukat rolled his eyes.

'Damar, there is a limit to speaking freely, even here, and you have just reached it,' he answered severely, but he couldn't avoid a smile and he made sure Damar saw it. 'Now get back to Ops before Weyoun notices you're missing. And remember, not a word about the, uh... complication.'

'Not a word.'

Dukat watched his first officer disappear out of the door, then resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. Right now his plan teetered on the edge between disaster and triumph, wobbling dangerously towards disaster; and to wrest it back from the edge, he'd deliberately courted disaster. His men being turned loose to vent all their animosity against the Jem'Hadar could only end in utter carnage – in fact, it was only his explicit orders that had prevented out-and-out turf warfare up until now – but it would provide him with the window of time he needed to make contact with Starfleet. The message wasn't a problem, but the messenger might be...

A horrible thought crossed his mind; he banished it almost instantly, then stopped, called it back and examined it, turning it over and over for any glaring faults, any logical reason that would allow him to dismiss it out of hand. There was nothing. It was sound, and he hated himself for knowing that.

And whatever would he tell Nerys?


	13. Part 13: Martyr For Love

**A/N: Real life makes my muse want to curl up in a ball and cry. Feedback makes it all better.**

**PART THIRTEEN: MARTYR FOR LOVE**

_**I knew what I was letting myself in for**_

_**I knew that I could never even the score**_

_**- Depeche Mode**_

Ziyal looked up from her drawing as her father came through the door looking untidy and harassed, his face all annoyance and fatigue and a swollen bruise at the corner of his mouth. He barely looked at her as he stripped off his armour and flopped onto the couch to remove his boots, then sat there with his head leaned back and his eyes firmly shut. She'd been fretting all evening, ever since she heard reports of a shuttle that exploded on its way back from Bajor, but now he was here she could dismiss it as nothing more than a malicious rumour, which was a great relief.

'Well? How was the trip?' she asked, slightly worried by his silence. He grunted and looked up.

'Hmm? Oh...Well, it wasn't exactly a success. I'd rather not talk about it, actually.'

He leant over and rummaged in the cupboard for a minute, emerging with a dermal regenerator, a bottle of kanar and two glasses, one of which he passed to her. She knew he wasn't telling her something, but she also knew better than to ask. He ran the regenerator over the bruise on his face, sighing with relief as the swelling went down.

'I take it the First Minister didn't like your idea,' she said carefully. He scowled.

'No, he didn't, which leaves me in a very awkward position. I'll tell you more about it later.'

Ziyal sipped at her kanar gingerly – she was still not quite sure whether she liked the taste of it or not – while he downed his immediately and glanced at her sidelong for a minute, a heavy, dour look coming across his face. She knew that look; it was the same one he'd worn when he'd told her and her mother that he was sending them away, all those years ago. It meant he had fought with himself and won, but still felt like he'd lost. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, then shook his head and shut it again. Ziyal got up and came to sit beside him, laying her head on his shoulder. He sighed and put an arm around her distractedly.

'You know, Ziyal, sometimes I wish I could just walk away from it all. Go back to that miserable bird of prey, limping through space with a crew of idiots and failures, when coming to see you and Nerys was the thing I looked forward to most... hah, or better yet, go back to when I was your age, do things over again...'

She knew he was thinking about the Occupation, or the Dominion, one of those many demons he never spoke of but she saw them all, under the masks of control and strength he wore like a badly applied lacquer, flaking, mixed too thin so the primer showed through: a primer the ugly colour of a warring conscience, the weight of decisions which never had a safe choice. She too wished he could walk away from it all. They could disappear, go and live somewhere quiet just the two of them, away from the politics and the bloodshed and the tangled, murderous power struggles – but she knew it would never happen. He'd done too much to the world to simply vanish from it, and the world in turn had done too much to him.

'Vedek Tonsa told me something once,' she said quietly, remembering the kind old man's face when he'd found her in the temple, incoherent with misery over too many things to mention. 'He said that we can't change our past but our future can be whatever we want it to be, as long as we have faith.'

Her father huffed out a sigh and she expected him to say something caustic about vedeks or Bajoran spiritual teachings, but he didn't. Instead he looked at her long and sadly.

'That may be so, but the problem I have is knowing what to have faith in. I have to do what is best for Cardassia, but I cannot do that without causing a great deal of violence. If I change my plans to avoid that, if I compromise my ideals, my own people will suffer – and that is something I cannot accept. I'm stuck, Ziyal. Death and destruction will follow me whatever I do, and I'm sick of it.'

He poured more kanar into his glass, slopping it on the table with the careless, almost violent action of his hand, then downed it in one go and laughed bitterly.

'Honestly, look at me. The leader of the Cardassian Union, drowning my sorrows at the deaths of aliens who do nothing but stand in my way – pathetic, isn't it? I've achieved everything I ever worked for and I'm throwing it back in my own face!'

Ziyal's heart bled for this man who had so many regrets, so many years and words and deeds, and it bled because he had to bottle all this up inside so nobody saw who he really was, what he really wanted. He only allowed them to see what he was expected to want – power, control, ambition, all those Cardassian things that had wreaked havoc on both sides of her ancestry for sixty years – and people labelled him a monster for it. Perhaps they were right to; but that wasn't all he was, and only she could see that. The love he felt and the control he strove for were at odds, and unless he gave up one or the other they'd pull him apart right in front of her eyes. And he didn't even realise it. When control triumphed temporarily, he thought he'd won, his upbringing told him he'd won – that it was acceptable, even right, to hurt the things he loved. And when he allowed himself to love without control, the Cardassian ideology took everything from him by telling him he was weak and foolish, _joy is vulnerability_ – and in his pride and his patriotism, he believed every word. It was the Cardassian psyche that was hurting him the most, and it was the Cardassian psyche he relied on the most. If joy was vulnerability, her Bajoran logic told her that vulnerability was also joy, which was something he'd never allow himself to acknowledge. She opened her mouth, then realised she could never articulate it all and he would never understand even if she could. Instead she took away the bottle of kanar and put it back in the cupboard.

'You've had enough to drink,' she told him. He smiled sadly at her.

'Your mother would have done exactly the same. You're right; I need to think about it, not get drunk and maudlin. There is a way out of this, I just have to find it.'

The clouds on his face seemed to clear as he got up, kissed her on the forehead and got two cups of red-leaf tea from the replicator, one of which he set down for her. As he headed to the computer with both hands full of padds and data rods, Ziyal realised he'd put his control face on, his tactical, calculating politics mask; she'd get no more out of him even though there was so much more she wanted to say, if she could only find the words. Instead she picked up her sketchpad and started to draw, as she always did when the words would not come. Only this time it didn't help her.

He worked long into the night and she sat up, watching him, emptying the contents of her head onto the paper in front of her without feeling any of the catharsis that it usually brought. It reminded her of when she was little; she'd sit on the floor of this room, revelling in her growing abilities with pen and ink, while he'd be at the computer writing feverishly, drinking endless cups of tea and snarling at people over the comm, until her mother would come and drag him away from his work into the warm, safe little bubble that was their family. Now that was gone. It died with her mother in the wreckage of a crashed ship on a distant, sandy hell of a planet. The bubble burst, replaced by years of endless toil, thirst, hunger, loneliness and the casual brutality of the Breen guards – and a ravaged tear in her father's heart that he'd patched with Central Command's propaganda while he was demoted and reviled by his people for losing Bajor; he'd gritted his teeth and clung to the values he'd been taught as a child, not realising that this made it worse. She suspected there was a little bit of him that was secretly, perversely Bajoran, and once he'd sent her and her mother away he squashed it down inside ruthlessly, forced himself back into the mould of dutiful son of the State, censoring all his own emotions before anyone could find them. And it had worked too well; if he'd not been such a good Cardassian, he wouldn't have joined the Dominion and started this war. And he was so blinkered by his people's stiff-necked, unrelenting quest for control that he'd rather die than admit it, even to her. He'd rather die than go against what had been drummed into him all his life – that Cardassia was superior and the end was always, always worth the means. Mother, I wish you were here now, Ziyal thought sadly. You made things work, you were the counterbalance to him. Now he wanted Nerys to be his counterbalance, but she couldn't be; her aggressive hostility made him cling ever more firmly to what he knew, and her likewise with his snide teasing.

'Ziyal.'

She glanced up. He was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, motioning her to join him. His eyes slid to where they both knew a hidden sensor was probably planted, up above the door to his room. She got up and went over to him, careful not to look in the bugged corner.

'What is it, Father?'

He looked as grim as she'd ever seen him as he sat down on the edge of her bed, sinking like his legs could no longer hold him up and refusing to make eye contact. She sat next to him.

'Ziyal, I need you to do something for me. Something very important and very dangerous,' he said, as quietly and dispassionately as if he was reading off a script. She heard rather than felt the breath catch slightly in her throat. He looked at her then, and something broke in his face; he quickly recovered, gritting his teeth, but she noticed it, wondering and fearing what it meant.

'I need to get a message to the Federation,' he continued, 'and you are to be the messenger. I can't do it myself because Weyoun already suspects I'm up to something. He'd never suspect you.'

He didn't say it, of course, but it was evident that refusal was not an option, even though her chest constricted in fear at the very thought of what the odious little Vorta would do to her if he caught her. She met her father's eyes.

'I understand,' she said, hating the way her voice trembled. She wanted to be strong; he was always so strong and so brave, he never shied from what he had to do, no matter how dangerous or horrible it was. Neither did Nerys – but she needed Cardassian strength for this, not Bajoran. Bajoran strength was anger and fire, it was violence, it was emotion as raw and unsubtle as a punch in the guts. Cardassian strength was different; cooler, sharper, steel and cunning and the elaborate dance of masks and lies that made up her father's society. She'd have to dance that dance, wear that mask, swallow all her feelings and present the world with only an innocent smile. She wanted to hate him for asking this of her. She wanted to hate him for letting it come to this, when he could have simply asked the Federation for help against the Dominion in the first place. But he had to do it his way – and in that, he was just as bad as Nerys was, only he didn't have the humility that tempered her. He had to prove at any cost that his way was the right one and she wanted to hate him for it, for thinking that proving a point was more important than people's lives. But as he looked at her, an expression on his face that she had never seen before, she realised she couldn't, because inside he was as terrified as she was. She almost laughed; the infamous Gul Dukat, scourge of Bajor and the Klingon Empire, proud leader of Cardassia – afraid! But it was true; her father was scared, and she could neither laugh at him nor hate him for it. He gripped her hand hard.

'Do not tell anyone, especially not Nerys. She must not know about this until you're done, because she'll try and stop you and everything will go wrong.'

Oh, she didn't like that at all. She'd become used to talking things over with Nerys, whatever was on her mind. In fact, when her father had left her behind after she (stupidly! pointlessly! she berated herself with the scathing tongue of hindsight) refused to abandon Garak, Nerys had been the one person who could lift her out of the deep pit of misery she sank into, when she'd forsaken her deluded, vengeful father for a man who would never want her in the way she wanted him. Now with her father back in her life, with some form of explanation for his horrendous actions, she wanted nothing more than for him and Nerys to put aside their differences and sort it all out. But instead he was keeping things from her, which she was bound to find out and be furious about, driving the wedge even further between them. And she, Ziyal, half each of them, would be stuck in the middle again. They would drag her this way and that, her father haring off in the direction he believed the answer to all his problems lay, Nerys refusing to follow whether or not he was going the wrong way, only because it was him – and they'd force her to choose between them because she could not have both. Ziyal knew that she wanted both of them, desperately, but they would kill her, kill each other, do everything apart from the smallest but most blessed of actions that was holding up their hands and admitting they were wrong. Neither of them would do that unless a miracle happened.

Ziyal had experienced enough in her short life to understand that miracles did not come for free. Someone would have to pay the price. The Cardassian in her arranged it so everybody paid an even amount, whether or not it was theirs to pay, and the Bajoran in her flung out an accusing finger and foisted the whole burden onto the one person who'd started it all, unheeding of whether that person could pay or not. Oh no. She was the one who would pay, though she neither deserved to nor was able to. And neither Nerys or her father would stop fighting long enough to realise it, until it was too late.

'Ziyal, please understand, I would never ask you to do this if it wasn't absolutely necessary. However, with things the way they are at the moment, your success or failure could determine the fate of the entire quadrant. I know it's a heavy burden, but you're the only one who can carry it.'

The entire quadrant... She didn't need to be told what would happen if she failed. She felt the dread weight of responsibility settle around her shoulders like a duranium shawl. All those people relying on her, all those people who would die if she slipped up or chickened out. Big doors swinging on little hinges. She certainly felt like a little hinge – puny, insignificant and frightened, and entirely inadequate to the task of moving a door the size of the Alpha Quadrant.

'To whom do I send this message?'

'You have a... uh, _friend_ aboard the Defiant, do you not?'

'I have to send the message to _Elim_?'

She didn't miss the grimace that crossed his face as she referred to his old enemy by his given name, or the plummeting of her stomach as she thought about the owner of that name. Relations between her and Garak had been rather strained since she realised that he didn't reciprocate her feelings, and while she still entertained the occasional hopeless fantasy in which he told her he loved her too, she knew he wouldn't find it very plausible for her to be writing love-letters to him in the middle of a war. Her father obviously wasn't aware of any of this – either that or he _was_ aware, but desperately clutching at any straws he could reach and wasn't in a position to be fussy about the particulars. She wasn't sure which scared her more.

'I will show you an old Obsidian Order code matrix,' he was saying, 'along with a copy of the message I wish to encode. You simply have to follow the instructions in the matrix then write your own message over the top – and as long as you include the word which indicates which code you've used, he will be able to read it.'

It sounded simple; anyone with Cardassian mental faculties would have no trouble with it at all. But from the way he was avoiding her gaze again, there was something else he wasn't saying. She sat up straighter and reached out a hand to him, turning his head so his eyes faced hers. If he was surprised by this gesture, he didn't show it.

'Tell me,' she pleaded. 'I know there's something else. I have to know, Father.'

He dropped his eyes.

'You'll have to do it alone. And if you get caught, I won't be able to defend you or turn a blind eye without giving myself away...' He broke off suddenly and seized her hand in both of his. 'Do you understand what this means?' he hissed. 'It means _you_ will take the blame if the message falls into the wrong hands! You will be accused of espionage and I will have to punish you accordingly, because _officially_ I know nothing about the message! You know what the Cardassian penalty for espionage is, don't you?'

'Death,' she mumbled. He nodded grimly.

'Death. Ziyal, _please _don't get caught – if I had to sentence my own daughter to death, I'd...'

He couldn't finish his sentence. She could almost picture the scene; the centre of the Promenade, every walkway thronged with onlookers jeering and hollering. Weyoun smug and officious as he read out the verdict, Nerys furious, maybe in tears, Odo stiff and inscrutable as ever – and her father lost and empty-looking, somehow small, forced to cling to his role as iron-fisted tyrant and unable even to say goodbye to her. The clinking weight of the chains she would be bound in. All the things she would never see and hear and do and say again. The moment of her own death... It was enough to make her want to run screaming but she shoved the thoughts away determinedly. She would do it. For her father, who was desperate enough to ask, and for Nerys, who would never ask but needed it too. She'd do it for both of them, out of love: despite his mad obsession with proving that everyone else was wrong and he was right, and despite Nerys's obstructive, damaging hostility _ex post facto – _despite the mindsets that blinkered them both so hopelessly, she couldn't help but love them.

'I understand, Father. I won't get caught.'

She got up quickly and went into the bathroom so she didn't have to see the look on his face.


	14. Part 14: Someone Says They Saw You

**A/N: **All quiet on the Western Front in terms of work – I have a week off, whoopee! Mucho writing will occur, because I've been pretty slack with this and I feel kinda bad. Sorry if anyone's been holding their breath for my next update.

**A/N Supplemental:** Bit quiet on the reviews front as well. Not that I'm hinting or anything. 

**PART 14: SOMEONE SAYS THEY SAW YOU**

_**Neighbour, you've fallen in with the wrong crowd**_

_**I've got so much to tell you in so little time**_

_**Oh neighbour, keep things close to your heart**_

_**If no one can help you, then how can I?**_

– _**Editors**_

Jake was worried. That was nothing new; ever since he decided to stay behind on the occupied station, he'd worried almost constantly about one thing or another – his father and the crew, Kira, Odo, Nog, poor old Grandpa Joseph back on Earth, the list was endless – but knowing that he'd been marked as a spy by Dukat and not called out on it was unnerving in the extreme. He wished he'd never agreed to help Kira in the first place, but that would have simply convinced her that he was serving no useful role here and he was just a liability. Which, if Dukat, Weyoun, Damar or some combination of the three were onto him, he already was. He sighed. Why didn't they just make their move and be done with it? He _knew_ they knew, and they were just waiting to see what he did next... whoever _they _were – he couldn't even tell any more. He hadn't seen Kira since the mysterious trip to Bajor, and the one time he'd encountered Dukat, the Cardassian had stared right through him with such black-eyed ferocity that Jake had legged it down the nearest corridor without looking back. And yesterday, he was sure he saw Damar and somebody else who he couldn't identify disappearing into an old storage bay, then Damar coming out again a few minutes later with a curious mix of anger and amusement on his sullen grey face. Jake wished he'd been brave enough to listen at the door. He knew things weren't right, it didn't take a genius to figure out that something big was about to kick off. What he didn't know was who, how and most importantly _why. _There was only one way to find that out: the station's rumour-mill.

He made his way to Quark's and settled himself in his usual corner by the dartboard which still hung against the pillar, its pitted surface a gloomy reminder of the bar's previous customers. It was mid-afternoon and business was slack – only a few Bajorans on the upper level, quiet and somehow furtive even though there were no rules against them being there, and on the main floor the two usual groups of off-duty soldiers, half Cardassian, half Jem'Hadar. Different men every time, of course, but they sat at the same tables as if it was preordained. Today the Cardassians seemed too lively: arguing and laughing overly loudly, grumbling excessively about food which yesterday was perfectly adequate, and jostling impatiently around the dabo wheel – and by almost comical contrast, on the other side by the stairs the Jem'Hadar stood like ugly, blinking totem poles, simply watching silently, their small dark eyes darting around. It didn't take long for Quark to notice Jake, give up on cleaning glasses and wander over looking disgruntled.

'How's it going, Quark?'

'Look at it! It's lousy, that's what it is. Lousy!' the Ferengi complained bitterly, waving a stubby blue-nailed hand at the Jem'Hadar. 'These gargoyles take up all the space but they don't buy a damn thing. They don't even play dabo! It's enough to make a Vulcan weep, I'm telling you.'

Jake nodded sympathetically. If he let Quark rant on about his latinum for a reasonable length of time, the bartender would eventually get himself worked up into such a state that he'd tell anyone anything. Then Jake could gently direct the questions towards what he really wanted to know about, and the Ferengi wouldn't even notice, he'd be so busy bemoaning his lot in life.

'And as for the spoonheads, I don't know what's up with them. They're acting drunk, but they're hardly drinking. Haven't seen Damar either,' Quark grumbled. 'He's usually in here the second he gets off the morning shift, going on and on about how he wants to wring that little Vorta's neck. Ah well, at least he pays his tab on time...'

Jake wasn't interested in Damar's prompt tab-paying; a break in the Cardassian officer's drinking routine was evidence enough that something was definitely not right around here. Things had been funny all morning, now he thought about it – the Cardassians looked edgy and tense, the Jem'Hadar were even more aggressive than usual because their latest shipment of Ketracel White was delayed, and the Bajorans seemed quite frankly terrified. Jake didn't blame them; being stuck on a station full of jittery Cardassians and White-starved Jem'Hadar could get very ugly, especially for Bajorans. Still, if Jake wasn't careful, that was exactly what would happen to him as well, and heaven knows neither the Cardassians nor the Jem'Hadar were too fond of Terrans.

Quark complained a bit more, almost – but not quite – going as far as to say he missed the way things were under the Federation, then scurried off to tinker with the replicator, which had been in dire need of repair ever since Rom had been shipped off to prison on Bajor. Jake was about to give it up as a bad job and go back to his quarters when a slim figure flitted through the door. It was Tora Ziyal, wearing unusually drab clothes in place of her usual bright pinks and greens, her long hair pinned up haphazardly like she'd got halfway through styling it and forgotten to do the rest. Her back was set rigidly straight, her movements quick and jerky, and she kept glancing nervously over her shoulder at the door of the bar while Quark fetched her a drink. If anything, she looked even more on edge than the rest of the Cardassians. Jake sidled up to her and laid a hand on her shoulder, and she nearly leapt out of her skin.

'Jake! Oh, don't sneak up on me like that again!' she exclaimed as she recognised him. He grinned.

'Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. My stuff's back here, come on over.'

Her hand was shaking so badly he had to carry her glass for her. Surely I didn't scare her _that_ much, Jake mused as they sat down. She looked pale, as far as he could tell with her Cardassian colouring, and the dark rings around her eyes suggested she'd not been sleeping well. Instead of the bulky sketchpad and collection of inks she nearly always carried with her, she had only one padd, which she shot a quick glance at then carefully laid face down. Jake was consumed with curiosity; for someone who was supposedly so good at secrets, she was doing a mighty bad job of hiding this one and it was evidently taking its toll on her.

'Are you alright?' he asked her as she looked over her shoulder yet again. She started slightly and whipped round to face him, the ends of her hair almost catching him in the eyes as she turned.

'What? Oh! Yes, I'm fine – how about you?'

He gave her some perfunctory answer but he knew she wasn't listening, as she had turned around to look at the door once more, as if she was expecting somebody.

'You don't happen to know where Damar is, by any chance?' she asked, attempting to sound casual. 'He usually comes in here after the morning shift, but I haven't seen him today.'

Jake frowned, alarm bells beginning to shrill in his head. That was the second person in the space of an hour to comment on Damar's absence. Whatever was going on, Damar was clearly right in the thick of it – and unless he was very much mistaken, Ziyal must be involved as well. He had to find out what their plan was before he got caught in the middle of it; these days, what you didn't know could hurt you a great deal.

'Nah, I haven't seen him either. What d'you want with him?' he asked carelessly. She shrugged.

'Oh, just... uh,' she mumbled. 'I can't really talk about it with non-Cardassians. It's... traditional.'

Curiouser and curiouser, Jake thought. From what he'd heard about her from Nerys, she wasn't into any of that Cardassian tradition stuff; in fact, she was much more Bajoran than she was Cardassian, despite her appearance. When he attempted to mention as much, she got quite annoyed with him.

'What's your point, Jake? Even if I were allowed to tell you, I wouldn't, alright?' she snapped. 'So if you're trying to dig up some ridiculous story for that news bulletin thing, you can look elsewhere!'

'Calm down, I didn't mean – Oh look, there's Damar, he's over by the door.'

Ziyal froze, wide-eyed, then seized her glass of kanar and drank the lot down in one go. Then she stuck one trembling hand in the air and made some kind of sign to Damar, who was shouldering his way through the crowd of Cardassians with a face like thunder. Damar nodded back at her, then tapped one of his men on the shoulder and hissed something into his ear. The other Cardassian scowled, went over to a big Jem'Hadar standing by the bar and started haranguing the creature about something that Jake couldn't quite hear. Others joined in on both sides of the argument and soon the whole bar was shouting and gesticulating angrily, Cardassians squaring up to Jem'Hadar, Bajorans staring down from the gallery looking shocked. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife; eyes were narrowed, hackles raised, fists clenched, and Quark beat a hasty retreat to the stockroom at the back of the bar, shutting the door firmly. Suddenly a rather runty-looking Jem'Hadar near the stairs took a swing at the Cardassian next to him, and all hell broke loose like a dam bursting. Jake was so busy trying to avoid the punches, kicks, airborne furniture and broken glass that he didn't notice Ziyal slipping out of the door until it was almost too late. She'd left her padd; it was lying on the floor under a chair, and Jake scrabbled for it just in time to see the tail of her skirt vanishing around the corner. He hurried after her, elbowing people out the way and getting a painful whack round the side of the head for his trouble. Ears ringing, he shoved past somebody's arm and ran out onto the Promenade.

'Ziyal! Ziyal, wait!'

He finally caught up with her three corridors away, when she slid to a halt by the turbolift and looked down at her hands frantically, then all around her on the floor. He pounded up behind her.

'You dropped this,' he panted, showing it to her. She gaped at him for a moment then, to his astonishment, flung her arms around his neck, covering his face with a cloud of tickly, foreign-scented hair. She was lithe and cool in his arms like a little fish, until she abruptly let go.

'Thank you, thank you so much! I thought I'd lost it!'

She reached out her hand to take the padd back, but he held it above his head and watched the panic spread across her face.

'Not until you tell me what's happening.'

'But – but...' she stammered, trying to reach it. He held it higher.

'Why is everyone fighting? What's going on between you and Damar?' he insisted. The agitation on her face was making him feel like a monster, but he needed answers. She seized his free hand and pulled him into the turbolift, ordering it to one of the lesser-used comms relays, then turned to him.

'You can't tell _anyone_ about this,' she hissed, 'but I'm trying to send a message to Garak on the Defiant. One of Damar's assistants has some grievance against the Jem'Hadar, and they agreed to make a distraction so I could get away unnoticed.'

A message to Garak? So Ziyal was planning something as well... Jake could hardly keep up with the profusion of plots, counter-plots, spies and lies. It was like a huge, malevolent spiderweb, and he the unwitting fly that had blundered in by mistake and was now ensnared in it. He read the padd, ignoring her shocked protests, and felt his face grow hot. It was a love-letter, nothing more. No plots, no secret messages, nothing but the tender minutiae that passed between two people who cared about each other. Only one rather unusual postscript caught his eye; it read, _By the way, do you remember Patchwork Quilt? _Jake frowned.Ziyal risking her life to send something this banal seemed to be an extraordinarily foolhardy thing to do; although the message itself seemed perfectly harmless, just getting caught sending it was enough for Weyoun to throw her in jail, and even Dukat would have a job getting her out again without causing a major diplomatic incident. Ziyal took advantage of his distraction to grab the padd back, eyes flashing furiously.

'What's the idea, reading my letters?' she snapped. 'Just who d'you think you are?'

'Ziyal,' he said hopelessly, a kind of terror gripping him by the throat at her unbelievable naivety, and at what would happen to her if she was caught. 'Ziyal, this is crazy. It's more than your life's worth if you get caught sending this! Even your father won't be able to overlook it.'

'I know that, and so does he,' she answered coolly. 'Which is why I won't get caught.'

Dukat knew? That meant... It suddenly all made sense. Jake's mouth fell open. What a thing to ask your own daughter to do! Imagine if his father made him do something like that... but no, he never would, and for that Jake was eternally grateful. He pointed at the padd.

'Patchwork quilt, I get it! That's not just a love-letter, is it?'

'Shush!' she muttered as the turbolift deposited them outside the comms relay control booth, the door of which was plastered with 'Authorised Personnel Only' notices. Ziyal hugged the shadow along the edge of the corridor, darted into the doorway and jimmied open an access panel with something long and shiny drawn out of her hair; in a matter of moments, she had the control booth door open and they both crept inside.

'You keep an eye on the sensors, I'll send the message, alright?' she whispered. Jake nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He'd been in the comms relays hundreds of times, but never before had the quiet humming of the consoles, lit only by their own backlights, filled him with such terror. He was almost afraid to approach the internal sensor panel; even touching it might give them away. But Ziyal was already tapping feverishly at the comms array, her back muscles taut and the ridges standing out on either side of her neck with nervous tension. He could hear them both breathing, quick and shallow. She looked up, eyes huge in her ghostly-pale face.

'It's working,' she said quietly. 'What's happening on the sensors?'

'Weyoun's leaving Ops; he must have gone to sort out the fight in Quark's,' Jake told her, squinting at the readouts. 'Your father and Nerys are still in the office.'

'Good. Just a few more minutes...'

She started tapping faster; Jake, heart hammering, turned back to the sensors and a lead ball of fear plummeted into his guts at what he saw there.

'Weyoun's coming this way! Four Jem'Hadar with him!'

'Oh Prophets, I'm not finished!' Ziyal wailed, her hands now positively flying over the console. Jake dithered helplessly, watching Weyoun's combadge signal on the monitor getting closer and closer, until Ziyal sighed with relief and hit the Send key.

'Come on, let's get out of here!'

Ziyal fumbled with the door while Jake scrambled to turn the sensor monitor off, but in his haste he hit the wrong combination of keys and triggered a security lockout. Instantly, lights came on, alarms shrilled, and a forcefield appeared over the door, sealing them into the room; Ziyal shrieked and jumped backwards as the current zapped her hands. All Jake could think of was that she'd left the padd lying right on top of the console in plain view, and the comm panel was still displaying 'Transmission In Progress' in flashing green characters.

'Hide, quick!' Ziyal hissed, dragging him towards the darkest corner of the room, but before they'd gone ten steps, Weyoun appeared in the doorway with a thoroughly unpleasant smile on his face. He was backed up by four of the biggest and ugliest Jem'Hadar that Jake had ever seen, all of whom looked absolutely murderous. Ziyal's hand clenched round Jake's arm in terror.

'Aha! What have we here? Unauthorised personnel?' Weyoun enquired archly. 'Perhaps you took a wrong turn somewhere and wandered in here by mistake, hmm?'

One of the Jem'Hadar tapped some controls on the doorframe and the forcefield deactivated. Jake and Ziyal stood frozen as Weyoun came through the doorway and stood in front of them, arms folded. The three of them formed this peculiar tableau for several minutes, and Jake could hear his own heart beating so loudly it seemed to fill the whole room. Weyoun raised an eyebrow.

'Well?'

'We... I... uh,' Ziyal stammered. Weyoun tilted his head to the side, looking at them with false sympathy, which was somehow worse than if he'd been angry.

'There's no need to be afraid, I'm sure this is all just a misunderstanding,' he crooned. Then his eyes flickered behind them to the screen now flashing 'Message Sent,' and he smiled cruelly.

'I see you two have been talking to somebody behind my back. I wonder who that could be...'

'It's... uh, it's nobody!' Jake blurted in a panic. 'Nobody important, I swear!'

For one mad minute it almost looked like Weyoun believed them – until he laughed scornfully, shaking his head. Jake's heart sank and he wondered why he'd bothered saying anything at all.

'You're going to have to do better than that, Mr Sisko. Let's see what this padd says, shall we? Hmm... ' Weyoun picked up the padd and started to read, his already protuberant eyes practically starting out of his head in mock astonishment.

'Well, it seems that your 'Nobody Important' is actually a Mr E. Garak at Starbase 621. And what a sweet little message this is, the lucky fellow! Though it does seem strange, going to all this trouble just to tell him how much you miss him...' He looked at Ziyal hard, and Jake swallowed. He knew Weyoun knew already. Their goose was well and truly cooked.

'Uh... he is my lover, yes – and I do miss him,' Ziyal said shakily. Weyoun looked sceptical.

'And you _really_ couldn't wait to tell him all of these extraordinarily mundane things? I find that very surprising. I mean, it's not as if he can come back to be with you... or is it?'

Ziyal froze and Jake knew instantly that it was the wrong thing to do; if he'd worked it out correctly, Patchwork Quilt was a coded message from Dukat to the Defiant crew, telling them... telling them what? Was he betraying the Dominion, or was he tricking the Federation into coming here and laying a trap for them? If it was the former, they'd just blown his cover as well as their own.

'Your reluctance to explain suggests there is more to this than meets the eye,' Weyoun said thoughtfully. 'I'm afraid I will have to – '

He was interrupted by the clang of boots in the corridor outside, then Dukat burst through the door followed closely by Kira. They shoved their way past the Jem'Hadar and approached Weyoun.

'What's all this? What's going on?' Dukat demanded, then he noticed the padd in Weyoun's hand, the flashing screen and Ziyal's terrified face. His mouth opened in shock, as did Kira's.

'Ah, Dukat, there you are. It seems your daughter and young Mr Sisko here have done something rather imprudent,' Weyoun announced, barely troubling to keep the glee out of his voice. 'They've been communicating with the Federation.'

'Give me that!' Dukat snarled, jerking the padd out of the Vorta's hand. He read it, eyes narrowed in disbelief. 'That's _it?_ Weyoun, it's a _love-letter_. I admit, it is rather a strange time to send a love-letter – to say nothing of its intended recipient...' He scowled and Jake felt Ziyal cringe beside him. 'Still, it's hardly what you'd call classified information.'

'Not at first glance, I agree. But then again, things are not always what they seem. _Are_ they, Dukat?' Weyoun asked pointedly, staring at Dukat and Kira in a most peculiar way. Dukat didn't bat an eyelid, and Kira simply folded her arms a little tighter across her chest, glowering at everyone.

'You think this is some sort of code? Hah!' Dukat scoffed. 'I don't know what the Founders were thinking when they programmed you with such rampant paranoia, but it isn't doing you any favours. I'll ask them to re-work your successor's genetics, iron out a few of those unfortunate flaws...'

At this insult to the Founders, the Jem'Hadar in the doorway gripped their rifles a bit tighter and an outraged expression appeared on Weyoun's face like he'd been slapped with a wet fish. Kira caught Jake's eye and he felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up despite his fear. He forced it down hastily.

'I'm paranoid, am I?' Weyoun exclaimed. 'In that case, perhaps _you'd_ care to explain the meaning of the phrase Patchwork Quilt, if it is really of so little consequence?'

'Patchwork quilt? I have absolutely no idea,' Dukat answered dismissively, but something in the way he said it, slightly too quickly, told Jake that the Cardassian was lying, and that his own suspicions about Ziyal's message were correct. Dukat was trying to get a message to the Defiant, and they had just bungled the job. Which meant they'd take the fall for it, not him.

'Well, _someone_ in this room knows,' Weyoun said coldly, 'and I _will _find out what is going on here.' He smiled sadly at Jake and Ziyal, and Jake felt the inevitable jaws finally tighten around him at the Vorta's next words. 'And even without this Patchwork Quilt business, these two will have to be detained until further notice, on suspicion of espionage against the Dominion.'

'Father, please,' Ziyal begged when Dukat did not object. Her soft, cracked voice made her sound very old and very young at the same time. 'I'm not a spy, I swear. Don't lock me up.'

'Ziyal, please, don't make this any more difficult,' Dukat sighed, but he was avoiding his daughter's gaze and his eyes looked suspiciously glassy. 'All the evidence is right there, I'm afraid there's no denying it. You shouldn't have done this.'

'Evidence? What evidence?' Kira fumed, grabbing the padd from Dukat and reading it quickly. 'Ziyal has written a letter to the man she loves, and despite what any of us think of that man, that's all she's done! She's no spy! And as for Jake, he obviously has nothing to do with this, he just happened to be there at the time.'

'If she's no spy, then why did she feel the need to transmit this message secretly? She could simply have come to me and I would have authorised it for her,' Weyoun said sweetly. Kira glared at this barefaced lie, as did Jake. 'Furthermore, why was she seen slipping out of Quark's bar under cover of the fighting?' the Vorta continued. 'If that isn't suspicious, then tell me what is!'

Jake bit his lip. Someone must have seen them leaving; he'd been so busy trying to keep up with Ziyal that he hadn't thought to be inconspicuous. They were out of options, and whatever the secret message contained in Patchwork Quilt was, Weyoun was sure to find it.

'No, the conclusion is all too obvious: Tora Ziyal is a Federation spy and Jake Sisko is her accomplice,' Weyoun said flatly. 'Guards, take them away and lock them up in separate cells. They must not be allowed to confer with each other under any circumstances.'

As the Jem'Hadar formed up around them, Ziyal lost her head and burst into terrified sobbing.

'Father, how can you do this to me?' she wept. Dukat's face twisted in a grimace.

'I have no choice,' he said heavily, starting to reach out a hand to her. Then he stopped, pulling his hand back and looking at the floor. 'You committed a crime, you must suffer the punishment. I'm sorry.'

'Rules are rules, Miss Tora,' Weyoun commented. 'If your father went around letting people off the hook just because he liked them, it would be absolute anarchy before too long! And Mr Sisko, I'm very disappointed in you. I warned you about getting involved in things that don't concern you, you didn't listen, and I have now reached the end of my patience. Come on, get them down to the cells.'

The Jem'Hadar shuffled them through the doorway, Ziyal still crying bitterly. Jake's legs felt like lead; his palms were clammy, his armpits soaked even in the air-conditioned atmosphere, and he just wanted the ground to swallow him up. He wished he'd never got involved. No, he wished he'd never stayed on the station in the first place. He could be on a starbase with his father now, or even back home on Earth with Grandpa Joseph, writing _Anslem_ and cooking jambalaya, absolutely safe with not a Jem'Hadar, Vorta or Cardassian within light years of him. Instead he was off to jail, his only crime being too damn curious for his own good.


	15. Part 15: Adieu, Adieu

**A/N: **Lyrics taken from a 15th century French song by the composer Gilles de Bins, more commonly known as Binchois. Rough translation by moi:

Sweet and good, whom I love with everything that I am

Saying goodbye brings me so much distress

Such great pain that I must open my mouth

**PART 15: ADIEU, ADIEU MON JOIEULX SOUVENIR**

_**Belle et bonne que j'aime autant de moy**_

_**Le dire adieu me donne tant d'annoy**_

_**Qu'a grant paine puis je la bouche ouvrir**_

– _**Gilles Binchois**_

Kira watched them go, her head reeling. Why in the name of the Prophets didn't they come to her? Why didn't they leave it to someone who knew what they were doing, instead of blundering in blindly and getting themselves caught? She couldn't tell what the message was, hidden inside that sweet and rather pathetic little letter, but she knew Dukat was lying about Patchwork Quilt. She was also fairly certain that he was involved somehow.

'And as for the pair of you,' Weyoun said ominously as he turned towards the door, 'I know you're both neck-deep in this as well, and rest assured that I will get to the bottom of it sooner or later.'

'Look out, here's that paranoid streak again,' Dukat remarked loudly to Kira. Weyoun glared at him.

'I'm warning you, Dukat, if I find out you've been double-crossing me, it will be very much the worse for you. _And_ your precious Cardassia.'

'You think I'mplotting against my own regime? Weyoun, you need to get your head examined!'

Weyoun did not dignify that with a response. As soon as he was gone, Kira turned to Dukat.

'What in the Prophets' name is going on here? What's Patchwork Quilt?' she demanded. 'And why didn't you stop that little toad from arresting Ziyal? Any fool could see she's not passing information! Not to mention Jake, who was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time!'

Dukat shifted uncomfortably, eyes downcast.

'I can't overrule Weyoun's authority, it would look too suspicious,' he answered. 'And yes, Jake Sisko is persistently in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he is not my concern.'

She knew him well enough now to notice when he was hiding something; she had to look closely, but it was there, something in his way he wasn't quite meeting her gaze.

'Don't give me that rules-and-regulations shit, Dukat,' she spat. 'Either you tell me what the hell is happening or I'll blow the lid off this whole thing, Prophets help me I will.'

'No! Wait!'

He had cracked; the official station-commander mask was gone, and there stood a man who'd had to stand by and watch as his beloved daughter got thrown in jail on some ludicrous jumped-up charge. He looked old and tired and sick of everything. She forced herself not to feel any sympathy for him, not until she'd found out the truth; it would be all too easy to go to him, to reach out to him and console him and try to make that lost, distant look on his face go away. But first she had to know.

'I had no choice. I couldn't have done it myself,' he said half to himself, beginning to pace around the room distractedly. 'I had no choice at all! Oh, if only she'd listened, if only she hadn't got anyone else involved... but oh no, that damn Sisko boy had to stick his nose in where it doesn't belong – '

'Done _what_ yourself?' Kira interrupted, a horrible thought suddenly crawling into her brain. She prayed she was wrong, but she was fairly certain she'd just worked out what Patchwork Quilt meant. So much for sympathising with him – if she was right, she'd wring his scaly neck.

'Huh?' Dukat stopped pacing and looked at her quizzically, as if he'd forgotten she was there.

'That wasn't her message at all, it was yours!' she exclaimed. He looked scandalised.

'Me, writing a love-letter to Garak? Major, it seems you also need your head looking at...'

'Not that! Patchwork Quilt! You let your own daughter take the fall for you, you worthless sack of shit! You contacted the Federation yourself and used Ziyal's message as a cover, so she'd be accused instead of you if it went wrong!'

'And what else could I have done?' he snarled back. 'Sent the message undisguised, got myself caught and have everything fall apart at the seams?'

'You could have allied with the Federation from the off, instead of being so damn proud and letting everyone else suffer so you can feed your ego!'

'Sure, and got myself assassinated after ten minutes by some lunatic who wanted to side with the Dominion for real? Oh yes, great idea,' he sneered. 'Now why didn't I think of that?'

'Oh, because using your own daughter as a scapegoat is _so_ much better! Is there no limit to how low you'll sink?' she shouted, storming up to him and jabbing him in the chest with her finger. He caught her wrist and held it away from him, his grip painfully strong.

'I did what I had to, Major,' he gritted out. 'You think I liked standing there and watching my child go to prison? You think I wouldn't have helped her, if I was able to?'

'Let go of me!' she snarled, jerking her hand out of his. 'You used her to avoid taking responsibility, just as you've used everyone else, making them pay for your mistakes. You brought this war here. You. Not Ziyal. But who's the one in jail?'

'It was the only way! If my daughter's life is the price I have to pay for stopping the Dominion, then I will pay it, much as it pains me to do so.'

'That's not your decision to make, Dukat! You have no right to throw away her life like that, just to further your own agenda!'

'She accepted her fate. I accepted her fate. But you, once again, are letting your warped, back-to-front principles get in the way of your common sense!'

'_Warped principles?_ You're willing to sacrifice your daughter's life to further your political manoeuvres and you _dare_ lecture _me_ about principles?' Kira exploded. 'I cannot believe my ears! Is nothing sacred to you? Is there nothing you don't abuse for your own gain?'

'Major, you of all people know how much I love my daughter, but her life cannot counterbalance the lives of an entire quadrant!' he hissed. 'And yes, my family is sacred to me, but not more than survival! What would be the point of protecting her now if it means we all end up dead anyway? We were out of time and out of options. She was our best hope, and she and I both understood that there was no other choice. Why can't you?'

'There is always a choice, Dukat,' Kira ground out, voice shaking with fury. 'And you just made the wrong one. So now I'm gonna make one, alright? From now on, you're on your own. You want your dirty work done, you do it yourself and accept the consequences.'

'You seem to forget, Major,' Dukat shot back equally angrily, 'that I am doing this for your planet and your people as much as my own. Would you trade Ziyal's life for every life on Bajor?'

'I wouldn't have to, if you had chosen to side with the Federation in the beginning rather than tangling this entire quadrant up in your insane power struggles!'

'You're right, you wouldn't have to. You know why? Because you'd both be dead, along with everyone else. And if _your _First Minister hadn't been so blind, I never would have had to involve the Federation at all. Now do you see why I had no other choice?'

'There's only one thing I see.'

'Oh yes? And what might that be?' he asked coldly. She met his eyes without blinking.

'I see that I shouldn't have expected anything better from the man who tried to kill his own flesh and blood to save his political career! And if Ziyal has any self-respect at all, she'll never forgive you for this. I certainly wouldn't.'

Hot and dizzy with anger, she barged past him and strode out of the room.

Dukat watched Kira leave, blazing down the corridor like a whirlwind of righteous fury, and he knew that he'd just lost her. She'd never trust him again; just when he was finally beginning to believe he'd made her understand, her bloody-minded terrorist resentment flared up and forced him right back into the box labelled 'Enemy' that he'd tried so hard to unlock. He felt old and tired, sick of scheming and sacrifices and responsibility, sick of the path some capricious god had set his feet on for all these years. He loved Cardassia like a mother, like a daughter, like a lover who conquered his heart over and over again, but she was vindictive; she took everything he had to give and repaid him in nothing but disasters, dilemmas and twists of fate that left him reeling. Yet he carried on serving her as loyally as any knight who fought and died for his lady's stony heart; he had done so from the day he was born, and he would do so until the day he died, because that is the nature of love. Love took his family from him, his career, his pride, and forced him to crawl through the muck until he could get close enough to bite the ankles of those who stood above him. But he would crawl and he would bite and he would claw his way back up again. He would show Nerys and Sisko, and all those who had turned him into the cause of every ill in the galaxy, that he was right. He was _right_. He had to be.

And if he wasn't, he'd just thrown away everything he loved most, for no reason at all.

He made his way down to the security office, barely noticing what and who he walked past, the Cardassians who took one look at him and walked quickly past, the Bajorans who pointed and whispered, wondering what had given their old enemy an expression like that. He jerked his head at the bored-looking glinn on duty outside the nearest cell, who hurriedly snapped to attention.

'Glinn, wait in the office until I come out.'

'But sir, I've got orders from Weyoun not to let anyone – '

'Weyoun can go to hell,' Dukat snarled. '_I_ am your commanding officer and _I_ am giving the orders. And if you don't follow those orders this instant, you will be guarding that cell from the wrong side of the forcefield. Do I make myself clear?'

'Y-yessir,' the unfortunate man stammered, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get out the way. Dukat approached the cell which contained Jake Sisko; the boy was asleep, curled up on the bunk in a tight ball. He sighed and moved on to the next one, where his daughter sat on the floor leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. She looked so small, so young and fragile with her hair ragged around her shoulders and those old scruffy clothes on. He deactivated the forcefield and crouched down next to her, taking her cold little hand in his own. As he bent closer, he noticed something glimmering on her cheek; it fell onto her arm and soaked into her sleeve, and she turned her face away in shame. That single tear damned him more than any of Kira's angry words, any of his desperate, soul-destroying plots, any of the innumerable injuries he'd caused innumerable people over the years. His daughter was crying for something he had done to her, and she didn't want him to see in case he thought her weak. Cardassia, you are a cruel mistress, he thought bitterly as he reached out and gathered Ziyal into his arms like he used to when she was very young. He wasn't able to kill her before, even though Cardassia demanded it of him; one look at those eyes and he was caught forever. And he couldn't let her die now. They would all pay for it in the end, but he couldn't do it.

'Father, don't,' she mumbled into his shoulder, trying to push him away. 'It's alright.'

'It isn't. My poor little girl, it isn't alright at all.'

'I'm not your little girl any more,' she said shakily, wiping her face. 'I'm a grown woman now and I accept what's happened. I'm just... I'm scared.'

He smoothed an unruly lock of hair off her forehead, unable to speak. His little girl, all grown up, already stuck in the endless cycle of sacrifice and duty that made up a Cardassian life. No, he reminded himself, she began that cycle years ago, she began that cycle when I abandoned her. I abandoned her, tried to kill her, tried to disown her – and now I've done this to her. How can it possibly be alright?

'And I'm sorry I let you down,' she blurted. 'Everything went wrong, I panicked, I couldn't – '

He shushed her, hardly able to bear it. _She_ was sorry for letting _him_ down – when he'd let her down so many times, the light of his life who he'd so nearly extinguished so many times. Truly, joy is vulnerability... and she, his vulnerability, was his joy. Let me be, Cardassia. I've given you enough.

'And I'm scared about Nerys,' she continued. 'She refuses to see what's going on. She'll do something crazy to try and save me, and she'll end up dead. We should have told her.'

'Maybe so,' he admitted. 'But what good would it have done? She still wouldn't have understood. But with or without her, you did what you needed to do, Ziyal. You didn't let me down. In fact, you may have just changed the course of this entire war, and I'm very proud of you.'

She looked up at him so trustingly, so lovingly – oh, how can you look at me like that, after what I've done to you, he thought bitterly. She squeezed his hand.

'Will you do something for me?'

'Anything.'

'Get Nerys out of harm's way. This isn't her fight, but she's going to fight it anyway and I don't want anything to happen to her. You need her, Father. More than you need me.'

Oh, the wisdom of youth, so painful in its innocence, its simple distillation of the profoundest and most frightening of emotions – that heart-wrenching mixture of pride and terror when your children suddenly become adults and you can no longer protect them from the world you have unleashed on them. Dukat swallowed hard. Parents did not cry in front of their children. Parents were strong arms, reassuring advice, a solid, comforting presence who could always be relied on to chase away the monsters under the bed and the shadows in the corners, no matter how bad things were. Even though the monsters filled the room and the shadows were all over the walls, he would hang onto that for her one last time. He would not cry.

'I won't let anything happen to her. You have my word.'

She nodded, lip trembling again. He had to look away.

'I should go before Weyoun comes looking for me,' he said quickly. She clutched at his sleeve.

'Father, I'm scared... Please don't leave me.'

She curled herself up against his arm, clinging on like a limpet. Desperation rose up like a bad taste in his mouth; he tipped her chin up with one finger and looked into her eyes.

'Everything will be alright, Ziyal,' he told her. 'The message is sent; the Federation will come back, I'll show them I'm not just the Founders' puppet, and we will beat the Dominion. As soon as they're gone, I will come down here and set you and Jake free. I promise.'

He almost believed it himself. Even though they'd entrusted their fate to a man who hated him with every fibre of his being, even though Sisko might suspect a trap and refuse to come, even though he knew he might not survive another day, let alone a battle – even though the plan which had started out as a luminous dream of glory had become a waking nightmare, he almost believed it. Ziyal folded his hand in both of hers and smiled up at him, sadly but not entirely without hope.

'You don't have to make promises, Father. I trust you.'

He couldn't answer. Even after all he'd done to her, she still trusted him. It broke his heart.

Kira leant hard on Odo's doorbell, the rage crackling through her like a fever. This had gone too far. She'd begun to trust Dukat, even believe in his plan, and that was a big mistake. A man who'd willingly put his own daughter in the firing line did not deserve her trust or her belief. She clamped down hard on the uncomfortable little voice in her brain which reminded her that the Resistance had no qualms about using children. That was different, she told herself stubbornly. It was _different_.

'Odo, dammit, I know you're in there!' she shouted, poking uselessly at the door controls. How dare he cut himself off from her when she was relying on him? If he hadn't turned his back, she never would have got drawn into Dukat's crazy machinations. They could have sprung Rom out and stopped the Dominion alone – Dukat had made his bed, why should everyone else lie in it with him? Just as she was about to give up in disgust, the door opened and Odo appeared, his glassy-smooth face somehow managing to look lined with tiredness.

'Nerys,' he greeted her tonelessly. 'Can I help you with something?'

She nearly hit him. How could the man who'd jeopardised their chances against the Dominion, the man who'd let them all down and nearly got Rom killed and forced her into some unholy alliance with Dukat simply stand there and ask her if she needed his help?

'Damn right you can help me with something,' she spat. 'You can get back out here and help me like you promised to before!'

'Nerys, I'm sorry, I...' he began, but her fury overwhelmed his efforts to speak.

'Sorry? Have you any idea what I've had to go through while you've been holed up in here with that Founder bitch? I had to strike a deal with Dukat to stop Weyoun from killing me, and Ziyal and Jake have been arrested for espionage because Dukat used them as cover to send his own message to the Defiant. If the Federation don't get here in a day or two, the minefield will come down and all those Jem'Hadar ships will obliterate this entire quadrant! And you're _sorry_. Well, great, Odo, that really helps.'

He stared at her hopelessly for a minute or two, then shook his head.

'Nerys, this isn't our fight. Don't throw your life away.'

'What do you care about my life? I'm only a _solid_,' she hissed venomously, unheeding of the stricken look that passed across his face. 'I'm a random element that you and your people have to regulate. That's it, isn't it? You don't want me to fight because I'll make a mess, I'll muck up your precious order!'

'Nerys – '

Kira was racing now, all the engines of her rage firing full throttle at this man, this man who was once her best friend, once told her he loved her, this man who had shut her out.

'Never mind that Dukat's tangled everyone up in some crazy plan,' she continued furiously, 'never mind that he's willing to risk his own daughter's life for his own ends – never mind that when the Federation get back here there'll be three different sides in the fight and we'll be scraping our body parts off the walls for weeks, let's worry about you and your sense of order, shall we?'

'Nerys, let me speak!' he barked suddenly, shocking her into silence. 'I need to know about Dukat's plan,' he said more calmly. His reasonable tone annoyed Kira all over again.

'What, so you can tell the Founder all about it in the Link and get me killed?' she snarled.

'I will not betray you and you know it, Nerys!'

'Odo, you already have betrayed me. I don't even know whose side you're on any more, because it's certainly not my side!'

'Stop making me into your enemy. You've got enough enemies already. I'm your friend, Nerys. I made a mistake that day, and I'm sorry, but we can't change that now. Why don't you come in?'

Kira glared at him, but stepped into his room and was immediately struck with the sight of his shape-shifting apparatus. He was a changeling. He was one of _them_. She couldn't trust anyone any more. Not him and certainly not Dukat. The only people she could trust were Jake, Ziyal and Rom, all of whom were in prison. Odo laid a hand carefully on her arm.

'Tell me, Nerys. If you want me to help you, you're going to have to explain what's going on.'

'You should already know what's going on!' she hissed back, beating his hand away. 'That's the whole problem. You removed yourself from events – and don't give me this crap about mistakes! You knew what you were doing, you knew we were relying on you, and you did it anyway.'

'I was wrong! What do you want me to do, go back in time and change it?'

'I want you to fight on my side, Odo! That's all I ever wanted!' she burst out. Odo sighed.

'If you want my help, tell me what's happening. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on.'

Kira tried to calm herself as she briefly outlined the whirlwind of events that had passed by since she'd last seen him; finding out about Dukat's plan, agreeing against her better judgement to go along with it if he got Rom off the station, the aborted alliance with Shakaar, the minefield, and finally the last bitter fragment of it, Dukat's willingness to use Ziyal as a messenger. Everything was a nightmare, and she'd had enough.

'I don't know what Dukat's message said. He could be laying a trap for the Federation, or he could be asking for their help, I just don't know,' she finished. 'I don't know who I can trust any more. I want to be able to trust you, but after your performance the other day I seriously have my doubts.'

'So Dukat is trying to switch sides,' Odo mused, apparently ignoring her comment about trust. 'If the Federation don't accept his offer, this will be a war on two fronts, with this station stuck in the middle of it all. Even more reason to stay out of it, in my opinion.'

'I can't stay out of it. I only agreed to help Dukat with his plans because he threatened to go to Weyoun and tell them all about our sabotage – our _failed_ sabotage,' she added bitterly. Odo didn't react, so she continued, more harshly, 'If he's laid a trap for the Federation, if everything he's told me has been a bluff, then we've just handed our lives over to the Dominion on a plate. Oh, _you'll_ be alright,' she sneered, 'you're a changeling, they won't hurt _you_ – but the rest of us are done for unless we can find a way out of this mess!'

Odo was silent, his face taking on the faraway, introverted look he wore when he was puzzling something out. She rejoiced briefly to see it; it was his old self, not the stranger he had become. But when he spoke at last, his words turned that thought right back on itself.

'Nerys, I'm not sure about this. The safest thing to do would be to stay out of it altogether. Bajor is meant to be neutral in this conflict, isn't it?'

'Odo, I am not sitting back and watching my friends die! And I am damn well not letting Dukat loose on this quadrant with some demented scheme which is guaranteed to only benefit him! I need your help if we're going to sort any of this out, and I need to know I can count on you!'

Odo put his chin in his hands. He didn't know how to explain it to her; it seemed that practically anything he said would make her angry, but not saying anything would make her equally angry. He loved her for her fire, but when he was the one burning in her flames it was too hot, it made him chaotic, undone, irrational; it turned him to ash. He found himself longing for the cool clarity of the Link, though he knew it would drive her further away from him, drive her to violence and disorder and a needless waste of her precious life.

'Nerys,' he said heavily, 'you must appreciate what kind of a dilemma I'm in right now. You're asking me to forfeit any chance I have of ever reconciling with my people. I don't know if I can do that.'

'What have your people ever done for you?' she blazed. 'They abandoned you, they stripped you of your powers, and now they're waging war on everyone you ever called friend! There's no contest!'

'You are not in a position to make that choice for me, Nerys.'

'Odo, listen to yourself! I don't know who you are any more, but you're not the man I remember! Fine, if you won't help me I'll just have to do it alone.'

She looked him hard in the eyes.

'And if you're not with me, then you're against me.'


	16. Part 15: Now Or Never

**A/N: **Phew, what a month. I'm now working about 50 hours a week, trying to move house and writing a ton of music – lady of leisure, I sho' ain't. Still, I've got a bit of free time this weekend, so I promise promise _promise_ the next chapter won't take quite so long. (And d'you really think I could type if I had my fingers crossed...?)

**A/N Supplemental: **For those of you who are interested in that kind of thing, we're coming up to crunch time. Next chapter could be messy. Be thou warned.

**PART 16: NOW OR NEVER**

_**Danger, I believe it**_

_**Wake up, it's a fight**_

_**Love me now forever**_

_**The war's on, it's now or never**_

– _**The Psychedelic Furs**_

It was 0400 when the news came through, startling people out of their beds or their graveyard-shift torpor in an instant with the sound of a call to war.

'Station Command to all personnel, your attention please,' Dukat's voice came over the comm system. 'It is my duty to inform you that approximately two minutes ago the long-range sensors detected a large Federation/Klingon fleet headed straight for us. At their current velocity, they will reach Terok Nor in just under thirteen hours. As such, I expect everyone to be fully prepared.'

So, Kira thought, here it begins. The unusual curtness and lack of humour or charm in Dukat's voice was not lost on her; he was clearly very worried, which would make him more alert than normal. She had thirteen hours to find out what he was doing, and stop him. By any means necessary.

'This includes the evacuation of anyone with Bajoran citizenship,' Dukat went on. 'All Bajorans will report to docking bays 2 through 7 immediately, where transport ships will take you to a temporary facility until it is safe for you to return. Any Bajoran found on the station after the last transport has left will be arrested for violating the Bajor-Dominion Non-Aggression Pact. These arrangements are for your own safety, so I suggest you follow them without complaint.'

Kira clenched her fists. She had no intention of going anywhere; if they wanted to arrest her, they'd have to find her first. She wasn't leaving.

'From now on the station will remain in battle standby conditions until further notice. All Cardassian and Dominion personnel, report to duty stations on the double. Anyone who leaves their post without permission will be shot. You have thirteen hours. Dukat out.'

Kira ventured outside, a half-formed plan zinging in her head, and found the corridors already full of people pushing, shoving and generally milling about in confusion. She was grateful for the cover they provided as she elbowed her way through, but she couldn't avoid a stab of fury as she saw a group of frightened women, including the ones who ran the jumja stall on the Promenade, being hustled down the corridor by a squad of armed Cardassians. Like in the bad old days of the Occupation, the sight strengthened her resolve even further to stop Dukat before he accomplished his plan. It was her against everyone now; no help, no backup, no reinforcements – just her, a phaser, some dark corners and a hasty prayer to the Prophets that she came out of this alive. She smiled grimly as she ducked into the entrance to a Jeffreys tube. Exactly like the bad old days. From her hiding place, she unclipped her combadge and pinned it to a passing vedek's back as he crossed the mouth of the conduit, then ducked quickly out of sight when he looked back suspiciously for a second. With any luck he'd be leaving soon, carrying her comm signal with him. She crawled down the conduit and reached the access ladder that ran up the back of the turbolift shaft. It was a hell of a long way up, and when the lifts roared past the whole shaft shook like an earthquake, but it was out of sight and it led directly to Ops. She started to climb.

She hadn't counted on there being quite so many Cardassians clustered around the turbolift exit in Ops. As she took a quick peek over the side, she realised that a half-formed plan was probably not enough to go on. Now she was jammed in a lift shaft, seriously outnumbered from above, with nothing but a long, long drop below if she messed up. She shook her head. She'd done it now, she'd just have to stick with it and pray that it worked. If she could manage to get off the ladder without being noticed, she could hide behind the turbolift itself and get round the side, emerging right outside the back door to Dukat's office, where she would only have Dukat himself to contend with – and Weyoun, who she didn't think would be much trouble on his own. She thought about it, arms and legs beginning to protest from the strain of hanging onto a ladder for so long, until somebody up above swore in Kardasi and a padd went clattering down the shaft right next to her. She let out an involuntary yelp as she almost let go in surprise.

'Hey! There's someone in the lift shaft!' she heard Damar shout. Cursing under her breath, she scrambled downwards as fast as she could, hoping to get to the access port on the floor below – and hit a jarring forcefield before she'd got even halfway there. Feet smarting from the current, she had no choice but to climb out the top, right into a circle of waiting Cardassians armed with rifles. Thanks a bunch, Prophets, she thought glumly as she stood in the ring of gun-points. Damar advanced across the floor to her, smug as a scaly cat that had just got the proverbial cream.

'Interesting way to get to the docking bays, _Major_,' he sneered. Kira treated him to her most withering glare.

'You know, I'm fairly sure I'm still a command-level officer on this station, in which case my post is over there,' she countered flatly, pointing at the tactical console. Damar rolled his eyes.

'The gul's orders were very specific; anyone of Bajoran citizenship has to leave, command-level officer or not. _I'm _fairly sure that that includes you – unless youreally are a deep-cover Obsidian op named Iliana Ghemor, in which case old Tekeny seriously got played for a sucker!'

Cue the obligatory sniggering from the soldiers. Kira gritted her teeth. Your target is Dukat, not these goons, she told herself. You can enjoy dealing with them later – if there is a later.

'Still, let's assume you're not Iliana, just to make things easier. I think you two,' Damar pointed at a couple of his men, 'should show the major the _quick_ way down to the docking bays. I'd hate for her to miss the last transport and end up in a cell...'

'I'm not leaving! This station is still in Bajoran space – '

She knew it was him, before she'd even seen him come down the stairs – she could tell, always. He seemed to bend the air around him, drawing her focus like matter into a black hole. That smell of armour and kanar and hair-gel and something else unnameable that she found seriously distracting, the way the soldiers pulled themselves up a little straighter, gripped their rifles a little tighter. And he knew she felt it, judging by his evil grin.

'Major, I could remind you about Bajor's neutrality in this situation and how I'm doing you a favour by getting you out of here before the fighting starts, but I know you won't listen. You _will_ be on that transport, even if I have to drag you all the way down there myself.'

Before she could react, the two soldiers were gripping her by the arms and dragging her into the turbolift; she managed to shoot one last evil glare at Dukat and Damar before the lift whisked them downward. The soldiers shoved her roughly out at the docking ring level and frogmarched her towards the queue of Bajorans waiting to board the transport ship, her predicament drawing concerned stares and pointing from the onlookers. Suddenly an idea struck her; it wasn't much, but it might just work. Even Shakaar had used it, in a pinch. Forcing herself not to think about Edon right now, she let her knees go weak and staggered against the Cardassian on her left, letting out a pathetic-sounding moan and pressing her hands to her stomach as if in pain.

'Hey, what the hell – ' the soldier exclaimed, before Kira head-butted him hard under the chin and kicked him in the knee; swinging round just in time, she drove her elbow into the other one's face as he made a grab for her, and felt his nose break. The two of them fell in a tangle and she legged it down the corridor, much to the delight of the watching Bajorans, many of whom were advancing swiftly on the two stricken Cardassians. She ran around the corner, ready to throw herself into the nearest conduit and seal the door shut, but was brought to a painful halt as someone – a large, black-armoured someone – cannoned into her, sending her sprawling. It was Dukat, and he was furious.

'I thought you'd try something like this,' he snarled, pinning her to the floor on her back and removing the phaser from her belt. 'Why can't you ever do what you're told?'

'Oh, you want me to leave quietly and give you a clear shot at whatever little surprise you've got in store for Starfleet? You must think I'm a complete idiot!' she snapped, trying to distract him so he wouldn't notice her drawing her knees in like _this..._

'Yes, and I wouldn't be far wrong!' he spat back before both her feet hit him in the stomach and knocked all the breath out of him. He collapsed against the wall, wheezing, and she leapt to her feet, only to fall back on top of him as his hand shot out and caught her round the ankle. She managed to land a blow to his head that practically split her knuckles, but she was soon overpowered; she was cornered and desperate, but he was taller and stronger and very angry. She ended up with his knee on her ribcage and one of his hands pinning her wrists above her head while he wiped blood off his face with the other rather inexpertly, which, coupled with his blazing, haven't-slept-for-days eyes, made him look decidedly unhinged.

'Get your hands off me!' she hissed, struggling like mad. He hung on tighter.

'Oh no, I don't think so,' he answered with a grim smile. 'I have worked far too hard for you to simply – aaarrgh!'

She'd managed to free one hand and grab his neck-ridge, digging her fingers mercilessly into the sensitive scales which twisted and crumpled in her grip. His eyes rolled back in agony as she stabbed her nails in at a pressure point, his grip weakened and she shoved him off her, scrambling to her feet and pelting down the corridor. A blast of orange light streaked past a few inches above her head and she stopped, turning back. She'd forgotten he'd taken her phaser. He was on his feet again, levelling it at her.

'I'm warning you, Nerys,' he growled. 'Don't make me.'

Panting, she held her hands up above her head.

'I give up. You win. Do what you want, just get on with it.'

He came closer, almost warily, and when he was a foot away and she still hadn't moved, he lowered the phaser. Fool, she gloated momentarily as she feinted left, punched right and felt her fist connect with his jaw, then spun away, sprinting down the corridor towards a conduit hatch where she'd try to lose him in the maze of Jeffreys tubes, the one place where bulky armour was a disadvantage. She wrenched the conduit hatch open and threw herself inside, but she wasn't quite quick enough; the horribly familiar burning sensation of phaser fire shot down her spine, her suddenly-paralysed legs collapsed under her and everything went dark as she fell face-first onto the steel floor of the tube.

When she woke up, she had a vile taste in her mouth, her head ached like she'd listened to three Klingon operas at once and the skin on her back felt raw and blistered under her uniform, all her muscles stiff and sore. She was lying on a bench in a grey little room that could only be a holding cell, and sure enough, there was the forcefield right across the door as she got up and staggered over there just to make sure she wasn't dreaming. No, it was real alright. She'd failed her mission and now Dukat was free to do whatever he wanted with all the Bajorans conveniently off the station. _For our own safety,_ my ass, she thought disgustedly. She wasn't just out of aces, she was out of cards entirely, and unless she could get out of here in time she'd lose a lot more than just her shirt. They all would.

Thanks for nothing, Prophets, she raged again silently. Why is it that whenever I need you most, you desert me, along with everyone else I thought I could trust? She should have listened to Shakaar. She should have killed Dukat when she had the chance, instead of letting him get under her skin and into her head like that. She never should have allowed herself to get caught out by him, because that was exactly what he wanted. Turn on the sentiment, do the old "shoot-or-be-shot, no hard feelings" number and appeal to her softer side, then throw it all back in her face. And even now, what is this flicker of doubt, Kira Nerys? she asked herself furiously. Did she really think he could be telling the truth, after what he did to Ziyal – after what he's about to do to the Federation? Oh no, there's no room for doubt now, not with stakes this high. Even if he isn't selling everybody out now, killing him will stop him from doing it in the future. He has to go.

Assuming, of course, that she can get out of this cell, which didn't look very likely.

She wished she knew what the time was. She could have been unconscious for hours, and all that time the Federation have been getting closer and closer, the trap jaws closing, ever so slowly, squeezing her window of opportunity smaller and smaller until it became non-existent.

'Nerys! Nerys, are you awake?'

It's Ziyal's voice; the girl must be in a cell down the corridor, because she could see the faint fritz of a forcefield in proximity to a body. The forcefield in the cell diagonally opposite to hers also began to fritz, and if she squinted she could make out a slender, long-limbed brownish shape which could only be Jake.

'Ziyal, Jake, what the hell is going on out there? What time is it?'

'About mid-afternoon, I think,' Jake answered, his voice sounding tinny and faraway. 'I really have no idea. It was early morning when they brought you in...'

She didn't like to think about it. She thought she'd been so damn clever, but he'd known all along, he'd been waiting for her – he knew how she worked far too well, and she didn't know a thing about his plans. All she knew was if she didn't manage to stop him in time, nobody would live long enough to regret it.

'Are you alright, Nerys?' Ziyal's gentle voice asked. Kira winced. How the girl could go through all that and still be considerate of other people's welfare was simply beyond her.

'I'll live,' she muttered. 'But when I catch up with your father, he'll wish I hadn't.'

'But how will you do that? There's no way out of here,' Jake pointed out. Kira sighed.

'I know. But there are guards who come past, right? Every hour?'

'Something like that. Usually Jem'Hadar.'

Even better. She couldn't appeal to their egos, because they had none. She couldn't threaten them, seduce them, bribe them, blackmail them – nothing. And she'd used the fake-illness trick too recently for it to work again. She'd need a miracle to get out of here. She heard the tramp of heavy footsteps approaching and thought for a crazy moment that the Prophets had listened and a miracle was on its way, only to find it was a Jem'Hadar guard making its way down the corridor. It stopped outside her cell and looked in at her, a strangely forlorn expression on its ugly face.

_It had blue eyes._

'Odo...?'

Before she could say anything else, more footsteps – quicker, more scurrying – rang out and Quark slid to a halt beside the Jem'Hadar.

'What the hell have you got me into, Odo? I had to double back three times before that idiot at the Promenade sentry post stopped following me!' he panted indignantly. 'This had better be worth it!'

'Quark, if I didn't need your help I wouldn't have asked you, believe me,' the Jem'Hadar replied in Odo's gravelly tones. Kira's heart leapt. The Prophets were listening after all. She was getting out.

'About time you showed up,' she told him, incomparably glad he was here and spitting mad it had taken him so long. 'Get Ziyal and Jake to safety, I can take care of myself. And Quark, I suggest you find yourself a hole to hide in, because this is going to get messy before too long.'

'With pleasure, Major – hey!' Quark squawked when Odo stopped him from legging it.

'Not so fast. Someone needs to knock out the weapons grid, and who better than you?'

'But – but I – ' Quark stammered. Odo sighed.

'Oh, don't tell me you can't, I was really hoping you'd be able to. You see, my plan rather depends on it, and I haven't got a plan B.'

The Ferengi hesitated a moment, then muttered, 'Oh, alright, since you ask _so _nicely... I'm warning you, Odo, if I get killed doing this, I'll...'

'You'll what, exactly?'

Quark just scowled and disappeared rapidly off down the corridor. Kira turned to Odo.

'What are you going to do?'

'I'm going to find somewhere safe for Jake and Ziyal to hide, then I'll join you in Ops. I assume that's where you'll be?'

'You assume correctly,' she nodded, fuelled by his loyalty, no matter how late it was in coming. He'd chosen her. Not his people. Her, and Bajor, and the Federation.

'Nerys,' he said softly. 'I owe you an apology. You needed me and I let you down, and I'm sorry.'

She stared at those familiar eyes in the unfamiliar face, the lumpy protuberances of the Jem'Hadar's leathery skin so at odds with his usual smooth, unblemished surface, and she didn't know what to say. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to pick him up by the collar and shake him until he told her why the hell it took him so long, why he'd left her like that, why he'd come back. But she just shrugged.

'We can talk about that later,' she told him bluntly. 'First, how about you get me out of here?'


	17. Part 17: Bullets

**A/N: **Oops, I just noticed there are two 'Part 15' in the chapter bar... that second one should obviously be Part 16. I fail at counting.

**A/N Supplemental:** OK, it's crunch time. Hang onto your hats/glasses/false teeth/wigs etc because this could get a little crazy and violent. Please excuse any lapses in editing, it's 1:30 here in London and I've got to get up for work in 5 hours' time, but I wanted you to see this first.

**PART 17: BULLETS**

_**If something has to give**_

_**Then it always will**_

– _**Editors**_

Dukat watched the screen. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, his jaw ached where Kira had hit him earlier, and the Federation fleet headed towards Terok Nor was about twice the size of what he'd expected, to say nothing of the Klingon outriders. Messages flew back and forth from increasingly confused fleet commanders asking why they weren't attacking, but he ignored them. Timing... timing was everything. Let the Federation get close enough to wonder where the bullets were, then box them in and start dictating terms at cannon-point. The Jem'Hadar fleet was taking a severe battering – he made a mental note to get hold of some Starfleet torpedo schematics at some point, before reminding himself that he'd probably be dead before he got to see them – but attacking Dominion fleets was like hitting your head against a wall; sooner or later, either you'd fall down or the wall would, but either way was likely to hurt a lot and leave rubble all over the place.

'Sir, if we don't order the fleets into position now they'll get there too late,' Damar said for about the twentieth time in the last half an hour as Weyoun looked on with almost ghoulish interest at the increasingly messy display on the tactical monitor. Dukat waved his first officer away irritably.

'Thank you, Damar, I am aware of that! Believe it or not, I do actually know what I'm doing here!'

That was a total lie. He had no way of knowing whether Sisko had got his message, much less understood it – and there was always the chance that Garak would deliberately mistranslate it, because the man's treachery to everyone and everything knew no bounds – and even then, it would take a miracle to get away with it without Weyoun and the Founder realising what was happening and turning on Cardassia Prime. Not to mention the fact that he'd undoubtedly end up either dead or a Federation prisoner. He gloomily wondered which option he liked least, then remembered that he probably wouldn't have much choice in the matter.

'In that case, perhaps you'd care to explain to those of us who don't have such a, um, _Cardassian_ grasp of strategy?' Weyoun asked delicately, while the Founder in the background simply watched, neither involved nor interested – just observing, cool and detached as a solitary iceberg. Dukat shrugged.

'It's fairly obvious, isn't it? We allow them to get close to the station while taking down as many of them as we can, then I order my fleets to move in from behind and trap them. Then, if they don't surrender, we open fire from both sides. Is your grasp of strategy sufficient to understand that much, or shall I draw some diagrams for you?' he asked sourly. Weyoun smiled.

'I believe I understand. Though I am compelled to ask, why have you separated the fleets in this manner? Anyone would think you were using the Jem'Hadar as bait!'

Dukat knew this one, he knew the response he had to make, and it put a serious dent in his pride. Still, losing face was better than losing everything, even if it was utterly humiliating.

'Much as it pains me to admit it,' he gritted out, 'the Jem'Hadar ships have superior firepower to our own. We stand a better chance if we go in with our strongest forces first. That's all.'

He shared a grimace with Damar. The admission was particularly painful for being very nearly true; even if it was in a good cause, no Cardassian liked belittling their own military forces in front of outsiders.

'They've broken through! The Defiant's got through our lines!' one of the comms officers yelled out suddenly. Nerves fizzing, Dukat scrambled for the tactical monitor, elbowing Weyoun out the way. Finally, he thought, here it begins. Shoot or be shot. The little red arrow resembling Sisko's overpowered, undersized ship was streaking across the screen towards them. He permitted himself a grin. If this worked, the look on Sisko's face would make it all worthwhile.

'Arm all torpedo banks and await further instructions,' Dukat announced to the station gunners. 'Anyone who fires before I give the order is a dead man.'

'Sir, I can't access the bay controls!' one of the gunners gabbled. Dukat froze, hoping he'd misheard.

'I can't either, I'm locked out of the system!' another gunner announced, sounding flustered and scared. 'Someone's erased all the passcodes!'

'What the – ?' spluttered Damar. 'That's impossible, I checked them half an hour ago!'

'Nerys,' Dukat said, quietly, certainly. He should have known. This was just like all the other times, all his carefully-designed schemes reduced to a pile of rubble by one belligerent, stubborn loose cannon who'd rather get everyone killed than do things anyone else's way, even once. He could have bailed out before now; he'd made contingency plans involving a quick and dirty scuffle with the Federation, an even quicker and dirtier retreat back to Cardassia and a lengthy regrouping period in which he could try again, minus Terok Nor and a whole lot of credibility from anyone whose support was worth a damn. It would have been difficult, but probably survivable – unlike this. He knew she'd be the death of him, one way or another, he just hadn't expected her to die with him. He wondered if he should be flattered in some way. He opened the comm to the gunners again.

'Get into that system, I don't care how,' he snapped. 'Do it. Fast.'

'But sir, we – '

_'Do it.'_

'Is there some sort of problem, Dukat?' Weyoun enquired conversationally, as if he hadn't been paying attention for the last ten minutes. Dukat's temper flared and he gripped the edge of the console so hard his knuckles cracked.

'Oh no, hardly at all,' he sneered, 'apart from we've got no torpedoes and someone's running around sabotaging every system they can get into – no, everything's totally under control, _obviously!'_

'I take it this wasn't part of your oh-so-ingenious plan?'

'What, shooting myself in the foot to save Sisko the trouble? Funnily enough, it wasn't– Hey! Don't just sit there, idiots, get a visual on those ships!' he barked at the comms officers. The monitor burst into life, showing a blackened, smoking Defiant flanked by two Klingon birds-of-prey screaming towards them. Two equally battered Jem'Hadar ships gave chase, but were quickly shot down.

'Increase power to shields!' Damar shouted down the comm as the ships got closer.

'Sir, there isn't any more power!' wailed the panicking engineer on the other end of the line. 'We're redlining as it is, if I boost it again we'll blow the reactor!'

Dukat shook his head. There was nothing for it; they were sitting ducks without any torpedoes. Now would be a good time to pray, but there wasn't anything he felt like praying to. The only local deities were Nerys's precious Prophets, and he sure as hell wasn't pleading with _them_ for his life.

'What about the minefield? If it had been taken down by now, none of this would be happening,' interjected a flat, toneless voice. The Founder waited until they were an inch from total chaos before making any contribution at all, and _that_ was the first thing she said? Dukat had to bite his tongue to stop the nervous laughter from welling up uncontrollably. He was beginning to feel slightly insane.

'The minefield? Uh, saving your presence, I'm sure, but can't you see I'm a little busy just now attempting to defend us from all that?' he spluttered incredulously, waving a hand at the chaos on the monitor. 'I promise you, if we survive this I will have that minefield gone within – '

A thunderous blast suddenly rocked the station and people were thrown all over the room; consoles sparked, ducts blew out and the reek of burning plasma filled the air, followed by the hiss of the fire extinguisher as two soldiers in gas masks ran in to deal with the flames. Dukat hauled himself laboriously out of the tactical pit into which he had fallen and staggered to the console, only to find himself having to dive for cover as a wildly-aimed phaser shot ricocheted over his head. He leaned out from behind the console and shot back equally wildly, realising exactly who was shooting at him and why. He wondered how she'd got out of the holding cell.

'What the hell is going on?' Damar was shouting. 'Stop her!'

'No! Stay back!' shouted a gruff, familiar voice. Dukat cursed. He'd forgotten all about Odo. Odo the Founder. Odo who could simply speak, and Weyoun and all the Jem'Hadar fell over each other in their haste to obey. If Nerys had Odo on her side, they were all lost; the constable had a remarkable tendency to completely bypass his ability to think straight where she was involved. If she said blow the place up, he'd do it without a second thought.

'Odo. How nice of you to join us,' the Founder announced, but Dukat and Damar seized their chance; they leapt over the console and pointed rifles at Kira and Odo, who pointed them right back. Dukat stared at Kira; she was out of breath, her uniform was torn all down one side and she was streaked with dust and oil and sweat and blood. He would gladly have chucked everything right then and there if she'd have come with him, but he knew she never would. They'd come too far and gone too wrong for that. The Jem'Hadar were standing around, confused by two Founders giving opposing orders, and Weyoun was beside himself. The station was still shaking from the Federation bombs, the comms were screaming with panic signals from all over the fleet, but the four of them were locked in a stalemate from which there would be no escape. He saw Damar's finger tighten on the trigger. He saw Odo's do the same. He saw Kira's do the same. So, this was it. This was where it all ended, a nasty four-way gunfight in a crowded room. Not exactly what he had in mind.

Then before any of them could react, Odo swung the barrel of his rifle away. Towards the Founder. Those blue eyes of hers looked frightened.

'No changeling has ever harmed another, Odo,' she said, only rather than a draconian, carved-in-stone ruling, it sounded like a plea – a weak, tremulous plea from the lips of a cowardly old woman. Odo considered her for a moment, unwavering, suddenly ten feet tall. Then he pulled the trigger.

'No changeling except me.'

She fell in a shower of black flaky pieces as the station rocked again and all the Jem'Hadar in the room froze, eyes darting between Odo and the remains of the Founder, back and forth, back and forth. Rifles fell from their nerveless fingers. Ships on the display veered out of control, smashing into each other, spinning madly until they exploded. Weyoun was on his knees. Dukat, Kira and Damar simply stood there, astonished beyond words. So this was what a dead god looked like. If I'd only known what it would do to them, Dukat thought vaguely, I would have killed her myself.

'This is your doing!' Weyoun screeched at Kira, brandishing a rifle that one of the unfortunate Jem'Hadar had dropped. 'You corrupted him! This cannot happen again!'

'Weyoun, no!' Odo shouted, but the little Vorta had already fired. That jet of green light was heading straight for her. It was one of those rare moments where time seems to crystallise and the air thickens like honey and sound blurs into a mush, and Dukat knew what to do. He listened to the yes.

He jumped.


	18. Part 18: Warriors

**A/N: **Ooh, I left it on a real mean cliffie last time, didn't I? Sorry to anyone who's been waiting impatiently for the next bit... well, your wait is over. Incidentally, it would be nice to know _who_ has been waiting impatiently. Angling for feedback? Why yes, I believe I am.

**A/N Supplemental:**Last bit now. Maybe 2 or 3 more chapters. Thanks for staying with it, those of you who have.

**PART 18: WARRIORS**

_**Thin air, like cold death, like cold death**_

_**Like cold death, here in my heart**_

_**And I felt for so long for you**_

– _**Gary Numan**_

Kira didn't even see the shot; all she knew about it was Dukat leaping in front of her with an inarticulate shout, then crumpling in midair as the bolt hit him and landing in a heap on the floor all tangled up with her, his blue-black blood soaking into her uniform hot and dark and sticky. The shot had caved half of his ribcage in, and bone and flesh and busted armour were twisted together in a hideous mangled crater, a person turned inside-out. His eyes were wide as he made horrible gargling gasping sounds instead of breathing. Damar was shouting, Jem'Hadar were running amok, stampeding and roaring down the corridors like maddened cattle, fighting each other, or simply collapsing in ugly heaps where they stood. Weyoun had vanished, as had Odo. Kira sat there with her old enemy as he choked and bled and grabbed frantically at her hand and rasped out words she couldn't hear or make sense of, and she sat there when Damar took one look at his commander, shook his head grimly and gave the order to move out, just like that. She sat there when the Federation forces beamed through the destroyed shields and the retreating Cardassians did not fire on them, being too busy with grabbing everything they could carry and scrambling for the nearest transporter pad, all dignity gone. And she was still sitting there ten minutes later when Sisko – grimy and battered and badly in need of a good week's sleep – staggered up to her, white teeth flashing in a broad grin across his dark face.

'We got your message, it worked perfectly!' he said hoarsely. She shook her head.

'It wasn't mine.'

'Then whose was it?'

She sat there when Sisko's gaze slid to Dukat, who wasn't moving, and a look of utter bewilderment crossed his face.

'His?'

She simply nodded. She couldn't think straight. Not only had Dukat been telling her the truth all along, he then had to go and do something stupidly, unreasonably, uncharacteristically noble as well. And now he was dead, or as good as. She looked down at him and shook her head. He'd given his life for her, of his own accord, and she couldn't even ask him why. It made her want to kill him all over again, but it also made her wish he would sit up and grin at her and say something irritating so she _could_ want to kill him all over again. Sisko let out a long sigh.

'Well, that certainly puts a new spin on things. God only knows what I'm going to tell Starfleet Command about all this...'

Bashir hurried over, already halfway through gabbling a report, then stopped at the sight of them.

'Oh,' he said. Not even surprised, just weary and disgusted with it all. Then Kira saw him fix his medical-professional mask firmly in place, and he bent down with his tricorder open, frowning. Then his eyes widened as the tricorder began to hum and burble.

'He's still alive! He won't last much longer unless I move him to the infirmary right away, though.'

'Do it, quick!' Sisko boomed, suddenly all action and urgency. 'He's more use to us alive than dead, wouldn't you agree, Major?'

Kira nodded mutely as Bashir and another medic bustled about with a stretcher, dragging Dukat's long body onto it and hurrying off in the direction of the infirmary. She looked down at the pool of blood on the floor. She'd wanted Dukat to be captured by the Federation, true, but now it had happened she felt no joy in it. In fact, all she felt was shame, and she wasn't sure why. He got what was coming to him, the fierce, uncompromising guerilla-fighter part of her mind said, and she agreed, but the small part of her mind that did not think as a fighter said look at him, look what he did to himself for you, isn't that worth something?

'What happened up here, Major?' Sisko asked, looking around the wreckage of Ops. He motioned to his office, the doors of which were dented inwards. Together they heaved them open and sat down on the gritty, dusty couch. He looked at her.

'I want to know everything. Start right at the beginning.'

By the time they were done Kira's throat was bone-dry from talking, repair crews were swarming all over Ops, O'Brien was running around trying to fix everything at once and Sisko's computer was nearly apoplectic with unread messages, but he ignored all of that, simply staring at her.

'Let me get this straight,' he said finally. 'Dukat was planning to switch sides all along, only you thought it was you he was double-crossing rather than the Dominion , and you put the kaibosh on his tactics when you took the weapons offline – '

'I had every right to think that, given his track record!' she interjected hotly, feeling some need to justify herself, more to herself than anything else. Sisko waved her outburst away.

'Sure, of course – but what I'm trying to understand is why he sided with the Dominion in the first place, rather than allying with us against them... I suppose I'll just have to ask him myself, if he lives long enough.'

She didn't like the way he said that, but she just shrugged.

'What are you gonna do with him?'

'Turn him over to Starfleet Command, of course. Why, what should I do with him?'

'If you'd asked me that question two hours ago, I'd have said kill him,' she admitted, feeling like she was at confession, and here was the Emissary sitting in front of her, and here she was having un-Bajoran, inappropriate feelings of remorse about her oldest and most bitter enemy, and it was all so confusing and she just wanted everything to go away. She shut her mouth and looked at her knees.

'And now, Nerys?' Sisko asked gently. 'How do you feel now?'

She couldn't admit that, not even to herself, and certainly not in front of Sisko.

'I don't know, sir. It's your decision,' she said stiffly. He looked faintly disappointed at her answer, but didn't comment on it.

'Strictly speaking, it's Starfleet Command's decision – provided, of course, that he survives. I'd better talk to Admiral Ross about all this. Have you spoken to the Provisional Government?'

'Not yet,' she muttered, gritting her teeth as she remembered that meant talking to Shakaar, who wouldn't be pleased that she hadn't killed Dukat herself. It was a botch-up all round; the only good thing to come of it was Odo shooting the Founder, and even that meant trouble, because Weyoun was still out there and as long as the minefield lasted then Deep Space Nine was a target. She smiled in spite of herself as she stood up. Terok Nor no longer.

'I'll go and talk to Shakaar right away, and let him know it's safe for the Bajoran personnel to come back here,' she told Sisko, who nodded rather distractedly as he gazed up at her from his perch on the sofa. She turned towards the door, wondering if she'd been too brusque; while Sisko was both her commanding officer and her religious leader, he was also her friend and ally. She turned back and smiled at him.

'It's good to have you back, sir.'

'It's good to be back, Major,' Sisko replied with a grin. 'We've got a hell of a lot to do, but we'll manage somehow.'

An hour passed, in which she resolutely refused to think about him. Instead she sent as brief a message as she could get away with to the Bajoran government, then concentrated entirely on the joy of seeing her friends again; Jadzia's headlong, laughing rush down the corridor and the rib-cracking hug the Trill caught her up in, O'Brien's solid, comforting arm around her shoulder, Worf's amused eyebrow twitch and gruff greeting, and perhaps most surprising of all, Quark crawling out of an empty barrel in his bar muttering 'I did it, I did it, I can't believe I did it,' over and over again, with such a look of incredulous terror on his orange face that Kira had to laugh. She hadn't seen Odo since he vanished from Ops after shooting the Founder, but she knew better than to chase him; he'd come in his own time. Then another hour passed and she could stand it no longer; the hugs and congratulations and endless retellings of the firefight in Ops were sliding off her numbly like water off a duck's back, leaving her hollow inside. She made her excuses and left the impromptu celebration in the middle of Quark's wrecked bar, ostensibly to walk around and clear her head, but she knew where she'd end up; her steps were drawn there like iron filings to a magnet and she could no more escape it than water could flow uphill.

The infirmary was crowded with patients; mostly Federation, but there were a few captured Cardassians on gurneys behind a forcefield, and in the special containment chamber were several Jem'Hadar, slumped in an untidy pile in the corner and apparently dead to the world. The Starfleet patients who were capable of speech greeted her enthusiastically, but she ignored them, heading instead for the far corner of the room which was screened off from the main ward. He looked small and horribly frail, lying there with his eyes shut and tubes in his arm and something that blinked at the side of his head in an irregular, irritating rhythm. Hard to believe she was ever frightened of him, seeing him stretched out like this, pinioned under the wings of the diagnostic array that Bashir had left there, skin bluish and vulnerable. Hard to believe she ever wanted to kill him, either – how could a sight so sorry be a threat to anyone? She stared down at him. He'd done this, for her, and now she had to live with it. She had to live with the knowledge that she'd been wrong about him, and that she'd probably never get a chance to do anything about it. But what would she do, anyway? He was still a war criminal, he was still a Cardassian, he was still a total and utter bastard –

But he was the bastard who'd used his own body to stop a disruptor bolt with her name on, and on every level at which she knew how to think, that counted for something. She remembered the time when she'd touched his face, those mad few minutes on that shuttle back from Bajor which had since been eclipsed in her mind by what he'd done to Ziyal. Just there, around his left eye, that's where she'd touched him. She did it again. His skin was cold, even for a Cardassian. But she saw his eyes twitch behind their grey lids.

'Dukat? Can you hear me?'

He didn't move again, just lay there like a corpse. She couldn't even tell if he was breathing or not, but all of a sudden she desperately wanted him to say something, to sit up, to laugh at her – anything that would show her he was still alive, so she could go back to the relationship they'd always had. It wasn't an easy relationship, but it was the kind of difficult she'd got used to and even, occasionally, almost enjoyed. This was not. Seeing her old adversary at his most vulnerable, and feeling so little triumph and so much shame about it, was not how it was meant to happen. It was not how they worked.

'Come on, say something,' she half begged him, knowing he probably couldn't hear her. She shook his shoulder. It couldn't end like this. He couldn't leave her alone with this awful knowledge that she was wrong about him and it had cost him his life to prove it to her. That wasn't... it wasn't _fair._

I know you're alive!' she muttered viciously at him, prodding him in the shoulder once more. 'I know you can hear me! I know you're having a damn good laugh because I now owe you my life, you _bastard_, so wake up and laugh out loud, will you!'

'Hello? Who's there?' came Bashir's startled voice from the other side of the screen. Kira leapt away from Dukat like he was radioactive. Bashir stuck his head round the corner.

'Oh, it's you. What are you doing?'

'Nothing!' she snapped. 'I was just seeing if he was dead yet.'

It came out so harshly and aggressively that she almost put her hand over her mouth in shock. Time was, she'd have leapt at the chance of putting the boot in, but now she wasn't so sure.

'Clearly he's not dead and Sisko wants him to survive, so no creeping in with a dagger in the dead of night, alright?' Bashir joked weakly, then stopped at the expression on her face.

'That's not funny, Julian. Not when I owe him my life. Oh Prophets, why did this have to happen? I don't want to owe him anything!' she spat, suddenly furious with everything and everyone, but especially Dukat, for putting her in this impossible position. Bashir stared at her as she continued angrily, 'I've spent thirty years trying to get away from him, and now we're tied together like cats in a sack! I hate it!'

'So you'd rather be dead than owe him your life, is that it?'

'Yes! No. Dammit, I don't know! Why did he do it? He's not supposed to do things like that!'

'You're lucky he did,' Bashir pointed out, infuriatingly logically. 'You weren't wearing any armour; he was, and look what happened to him. Imagine what that disruptor bolt would've done to you.'

She already had, and it made her flesh creep.

'That's not the point!'

'I think it's very much the point, actually. I dare say he has his reasons, Nerys. I'd just take what you're given, if I were you. Sometimes it's best not to ask why.'

Perhaps he was right. But then again, this was Dukat they were talking about; he was guaranteed to find a way of turning this to his advantage. And this time she couldn't even hate him for it. She shrugged irritably.

'Whatever. Let me know as soon as he wakes up.'

If only so I can work out what the hell I'm going to say to him, she added to herself.


	19. Part 19: Not Even Jail

**A/N: **Last but one chapter, folks. Oh, and now might be a good time to mention that there will be a sequel at some point, because obviously things are far from resolved and wrapping it up now would feel a bit half-arsed. Details forthcoming.

**PART 19: NOT EVEN JAIL**

_**I'm sort of like a lion's cage**_

_**Such a cautious display**_

_**Remember, take hold of your time here**_

_**Get some meaning to the means to your end**_

– _**Interpol**_

Kira couldn't help it. Ever since Ziyal had returned from Bajor two days after the Federation retook the station and learned what happened to her father, she'd been keeping watch by his bedside for when he woke up. And since Ziyal was there, Kira found herself using that as an excuse to justify her own visits. She knew she had a million things to do as the station was restored bit by bit, she knew they were far from safe since no one had caught Weyoun yet, and she knew she really had to sit down and have a serious talk with Odo, who'd sealed himself in his rooms ever since he'd shot the Founder and refused to answer his comm. She knew she shouldn't be worrying and thinking and wasting valuable time on a half-dead Cardassian, yet she inevitably ended up sitting in the infirmary on one of the uncomfortable chairs reserved for the able-bodied, Ziyal by her side, both of them watching Dukat. Who did precisely nothing. Bashir had said, with grudging admiration, that he obviously had insides made of duranium and he'd probably make a full recovery, eventually. But a full recovery usually involved waking up, and he hadn't done that yet. She'd told Ziyal what had happened, and the girl had just smiled a sad smile and mumbled something about keeping one promise, at least, but not quite in the way she'd expected. Kira didn't ask what it meant; the bond between Ziyal and Dukat was incomprehensible to her at times, and she wasn't anything to do with it. But she wanted to know – had Ziyal made Dukat swear to keep her safe? She didn't know whether to be touched at Ziyal's loyalty, or indignant at the implication that she couldn't take care of herself.

'D'you think he'll ever wake up?' Ziyal asked on the fifth or sixth day after the battle as they sat there yet again, watching him do nothing except lie there silently, tubes still trailing from his wrists. Kira shrugged.

'Julian thinks so, and he knows what he's talking about. Besides, if I know your father, he'll be up and talking nineteen to the dozen any minute now,' she answered, as she'd answered every time Ziyal had asked that question over the last few days. But in truth she wasn't sure. She was scared he would, and equally scared he wouldn't. She'd tried her best not to think about it, with little success.

'What's going to happen to him?'

Ah. That was the other question, and Kira didn't have an answer for that either. Sisko wanted him handed over to the Federation, while Shakaar wanted him brought before the Bajoran authorities. There would probably be a long, drawn-out custody battle which Damar, presumably back on Cardassia by now, would get wind of and try to hijack, and the whole damn thing would start over again, just as they'd all grabbed some breathing space from the fighting.

'I don't know, Ziyal. I guess we'll find that out soon enough.'

'Can't Doctor Bashir wake him up somehow?'

'He hasn't got anything that works on Cardassians, Damar's men took it all when they evacuated – '

She was interrupted by a gasp from Ziyal, who had seen Dukat move suddenly, a kind of twitch, followed by a flicker of eyelids and a faint grunt.

'Father! Can you hear me?'

Another grunt, slightly more definite, then a pained groan. Kira kept back, suddenly more afraid than she ever was during the fighting, while Ziyal leant anxiously over her father.

'Father, it's me, Ziyal. Can you talk?'

He looked up at them through bleary, unfocused eyes, and Kira instinctively moved out of his line of sight. She wasn't prepared for this. He stared around muzzily, breathing uneven and raspy.

'Am I dead?' he croaked. Ziyal laughed out loud and would have flung her arms around him had Kira not reached out and stopped her. Instead, she reached out and touched his face gently.

'No, Father, you're not dead.'

He looked a little disappointed.

'I suppose that means Sisko's back. Am I a prisoner?'

'That's right,' Kira broke in, seizing her chance to start things off from the upper hand. She had no idea what to say to him – all the rules had changed, this was unfamiliar territory for them both – so she stuck to what they both knew: confrontation. He seemed to recognise her for the first time, and gestured feebly at himself with the arm not entangled in tubes.

'Major, this is all your fault,' he mumbled with an attempt at his usual glibness, but his face looked worn and there were deep shadows around his eyes. Kira was almost glad to hear the familiar goading tone, even though it was weak and husky and he was lying down and immobile and very much the worse off in this situation, which was something she wasn't used to.

'I didn't make you do that,' she half-teased him back – but only half, because she'd thought that exact same thing in all seriousness more than once over the last few days and her voice came out sharper than she'd anticipated. 'You did it of your own accord.'

'Now _there's_ gratitude for you. You realise you'd be dead if I hadn't stopped that bullet for you?'

He sounded genuinely hurt, and Kira didn't know what to do. He was asking her to be honest, and she didn't think she could. That would mean opening the door on all those feelings she wasn't meant to have, it would have them out in the open where he'd gather them up and pick over them like a carrion crow, gleaning every last scrap from them until she was under his thumb all over again. Part of her wondered whether it was worth a try – after everything they'd put each other through, maybe they'd earned the right to each other's truths, but she didn't want to risk it. Stick to what you know.

'Of course I do!' she snapped back, all pretence of teasing gone. 'But as far as I'm concerned, that was your decision. I don't owe you anything, Dukat.'

'I never said you did,' he answered coolly. 'I just thought you'd be pleased to survive, that's all. Next time I won't bother.'

Ziyal, who had been sitting silently holding Dukat's hand, suddenly got to her feet.

'You two are so _stupid!_' she exclaimed furiously. 'You just don't see it, do you? All these things you fight over, it's cause and effect, action and reaction – well, you don't get one without the other, do you?' she finished, before sliding off her chair and hurrying out the door. Dukat watched her leave, head tilted painfully to one side as he gazed at the spot where she'd whisked round the corner out of sight. Kira put her hands on her hips. Ziyal had, once again, put her finger exactly on the spot – she'd noticed that the two of them sparked off each other like flint and steel, and if they could ever turn those sparks into a positive influence they'd be a force to be reckoned with. Kira remembered when she'd stunned him and he told her they'd do great things together, and she had to suppress a grimace because he'd worked it out so much faster than she had, as usual. Still, he didn't need to know that she'd realised now. It was best if he didn't, if they never sparked off each other any more. It would be best if she just walked away. That would be the Bajoran thing to do. That would be the sensible thing to do. You'll regret this, said a voice in her mind. She ignored it, and stared down at Dukat.

'She's wrong, you know,' she said to him. 'So don't you dare try to blame this on me. You made your bed and now you're lying in it; don't you drag me in there with you.'

To his credit and her eternal relief, he didn't laugh, but she blushed anyway. It wasn't the best choice of words, particularly not given the nature of the relationship they had come dangerously close to having. To make matters worse, Bashir chose that exact moment to walk in, notice the two of them staring at each other and do a slight double-take. Then he moved over to Dukat and looked down at him with a critical eye.

'You're awake, I see. Welcome back to the land of the living. I wasn't sure if you'd make it.'

'Clever, aren't they, these Starfleet doctors?' Dukat remarked nastily. 'Yes, I'm awake, well done. And before you ask, I feel terrible and I wouldn't mind some painkillers, unless you're deliberately withholding them as cruel and unusual punishment for war criminals like me.'

It was a long sentence for someone who'd recently had most of his lungs turned to ribbons, and he was gasping by the end of it, but Bashir shrugged and pulled out a hypo-spray.

'This may not work too well on you, but it's all I've got. There is a war on, you know.'

'Don't I know it,' Dukat muttered, looking at the hypo-spray with dislike as Bashir held it to his neck. 'Is that thing switched on? It still hurts.'

'Well, you'll have to put up with it, I'm afraid. This wasn't designed for Cardassians who don't know when to quit,' Bashir answered snappily. 'Anyway, I think it's about time I told the captain that you're awake. He's probably going to read you the riot act, but I've forbidden him from actually doing anything until I pronounce you fit enough. Wouldn't look good if a prisoner died in our custody – though I doubt _you'd_ know much about humane treatment of prisoners...'

'So not only am I stuck here until you say the word, but I also have to put up with your dismal attempts at wit? This is definitely cruel and unusual punishment,' Dukat grumbled and made as if to sit up. Bashir pushed him back down and held him there, ignoring his protests.

'Oh no you don't. I just had to reconstruct half your ribcage, I'm not having you wrecking it again by making sudden moves when you're not strong enough.'

'I refuse to lie here flat on my back while Sisko stands over me and pontificates!' Dukat spluttered indignantly, trying to knock Bashir's hands off his shoulders. After several unsuccessful attempts, each met with a wince and an unpleasant rattle of breath, he gave up and lay back, eyes shut.

'Very well. If I have an appointment with the _Emissary_, I should probably get it over with,' he sighed. 'I'd hate to delay the smooth passage of justice, after all – if that farce you people call a legal system can even be described as justice...'

Kira couldn't tell whether his face was screwed up in pain or in disgust, but she began to acknowledge that he'd given her not just her life, but the rest of his as well. He'd chosen to die, or become a prisoner in a Federation penal colony, so she could live to fight against his people. And half of her regretted her earlier words; maybe she shouldn't have been so harsh. But she couldn't have him knowing what she thought, it would change too much. He'd be carted off to prison, she'd walk away and get on with her life, fighting the Dominion, living here on Deep Space Nine. She'd never see him again, never have to think about him again... She suddenly noticed that Bashir had disappeared somewhere, leaving her alone with him.

'I suppose you'd be interested to know that the Bajoran Provisional Government want custody of you as well, since Deep Space Nine is technically in our territory,' she informed him, the brisk business of politics allowing her to put some distance between him and her whirling thoughts. He opened one eye at her, not seeming too bothered.

'When do they _not_ want my head on a plate? They won't have me, the Federation will. And once something's been given over to Starfleet, it rarely comes back. No doubt I'll be sent off to some vile penal colony and spend the rest of my days breaking rocks in the freezing cold...'

She made a non-committal noise in her throat. He'd be off, he'd be out of her life. She would have won, at long last. So why did she still feel like she was being made a fool of?

'Dukat,' she said slowly, dreading the words she had to say next, but she had to say them. She had to acknowledge the fact that she was still alive to say them. Just this once.

'Hmm?'

'Thank you. For saving my life, I mean.'

It came out in an inelegant muffled rush and she clamped her jaw shut hard, almost cutting off the end of the sentence, for fear that she'd say something she didn't mean – or rather, said something she did mean but shouldn't. He stared at her closely for a moment, then a tentative, surprised smile crept slowly across his face. For a moment he looked almost... sweet. She nearly laughed out loud. It really showed just how much had happened, if she could catch herself thinking of a Cardassian as anything like sweet.

'You're most welcome,' he told her, and about that she knew he was being as honest as he knew how to be. She knew he expected something in return, eventually, but she also knew he wouldn't push her for it. Which meant he may not have another chance to get it before the Federation took him.

And there was the rub. She should have been pleased about that – saved by the bell, or something – but she wasn't. She felt bizarrely cheated by it. And when his mouth twitched in a fairly decent attempt at his normal wicked smirk and he made some remark about gratitude not being so hard after all, she found it didn't annoy her as much as it used to. It was just the sort of thing he said. It was just the sort of thing that, for a few days, she thought she'd never see or hear again.

Why did this matter so much?

'I have to know,' she said. 'Why did you do it?'

'Because I promised Ziyal that no harm would come to you.'

It was a disarmingly simple answer for such a complicated man, and she knew it wasn't the whole truth. She couldn't really accuse him of omission, because she'd done exactly the same thing, but she was sure there was more to it. They both knew that the other had things they weren't saying, and it was hanging in the air between them as thick and choking as poison gas.

'That's the only reason?'

It was like opening a can of worms; she'd lifted the lid, although she knew it was sealed for a good reason, and now she just had to see what came out. It would have been better not to ask. It would have been better to walk away. But she couldn't walk away from him, nor he from her, and that had always been the problem.

'You tell me, Major. Why do you think I did it? Don't pretend you don't know, tell me honestly. You owe me that much.'

She couldn't deny it; she owed him that much. She owed both of them that much. But saying it out loud would make it actual and irrevocable. She felt the weight of his stare as he looked up at her. Once he got transferred to the Federation POW camp, she wouldn't see him again. She wouldn't have to walk away from him; he'd be taken away from her. She caught herself experiencing a pang of regret about this, and tried to wave it away as ridiculous and irrational and probably just a result of this whole owing-him-her-life inconvenience, but she knew it had started before that, and she knew she couldn't wave it away forever. Sooner or later she'd have to deal with it, and that meant admitting it to him.

But she didn't have sooner or later. She had now, and him staring at her, and the sound of someone else's footsteps approaching the door and that slightly kicked-in-the-teeth feeling of a missed chance, of a moment that would never happen again. He seemed to realise it too; his eyes locked once more with hers and stayed there for a couple of seconds in which she was sure he figured everything out, everything she couldn't say, and he smiled a careful half-smile that was more sad than happy. Then he reached out a hand towards her. She stared at it, nonplussed. Should she take it? Should she knock it away? What did it mean?

'Well, aren't you going to help me up? I'd appreciate some assistance, since you're here.'

She blushed furiously for the second time in half an hour, and this time he did grin weakly.

'Major, I'm not going to do anything to you. I'm hardly in a fit state for that sort of thing. Not to mention the lack of privacy – I don't fancy being walked in on by that doctor of yours...'

She snorted derisively, but allowed him to wrap his fingers around her forearms while she held him under the elbows and helped him to sit up. Muttering curses and grimacing horribly with the pain of it, he struggled to his feet with very little aid from her and even managed to look quite imposing, despite wearing a Starfleet-issue medical gown in unflattering blue and yellow. She let go of him quickly and stood back a little way as Sisko's heavy tread approached.

'Ah, Major, here you are,' the captain greeted her somewhat distractedly, his entire attention focused on Dukat. The two men eyeballed each other for a moment, Dukat swaying slightly on his feet and surreptitiously clinging to the edge of the biobed to stay upright, but easily out-staring Sisko.

'So, you've got your station back, and me as a prisoner into the bargain. A good day's work for the Federation, eh?' Dukat said evenly, or as evenly as a man with severe breathing difficulties could manage. 'I suppose you're here to remind me what an evil man I am, and how many billions of people's blood I have on my hands?'

'No, actually, because you seem to be fully aware of both of those things already,' Sisko answered. 'I'm here to ask you some questions, Dukat. Like why you didn't side with the Federation in the first place to prevent some of those deaths.'

'Prevent them? Hah! If I had sided with you, the Dominion would have gone for Cardassia first and we'd have been decimated by the time you stopped trying to be diplomatic and got out the big guns. There would still have been millions of deaths, it's just they'd be my people rather than yours.'

'The Federation would have protected you, if you'd asked. We wouldn't have used you as bait, which is more than I can say for you if the situation were reversed.'

Too true, thought Kira, watching the pair of them square up to each other; Sisko was straightforward, muscular, honest, the picture of might and right and injured disbelief, while Dukat was cornered, backed against a wall, looking everywhere for a way out of the decisions he'd made and almost died for. She didn't know where her allegiances lay any more; Sisko was her leader, a holy figure who shone like a beacon – but Dukat was the man who'd always been there; her enemy, her counterpart, her unwelcome, too-frequent visitor, and now at the end, the man who'd thrown away everything to save her life, for reasons she was still too afraid to think about. She had to choose, and she knew beyond doubt who she _should_ be loyal to, so why was it so hard?

'You'd have protected us and used up your own resources while doing so, for no apparent price? How noble of you,' Dukat sneered at Sisko, the effect lessened by a slight wobble as his knees temporarily gave way and he had to cling to the biobed to stay standing. 'However, in Kardasi, the word for _noble_ is the same as the word for _stupid_.'

'Oh, and switching sides after you've caused an unimaginable amount of violence _isn't_ stupid?' Sisko thundered. 'Think how many lives could have been saved on both sides if you'd just told us what you were doing from the beginning!'

'And risked your lousy excuse for an intelligence service shouting it all over the place? I think not! Besides, I didn't side with you. I invited _you_ to side with _me_, back when I first told you I'd joined the Dominion, and you refused. Remember that?'

Sisko's scowl indicated that he remembered something quite different but Dukat took no notice, waving his tube-trailing hand in front of the captain's face as he continued, 'I told you that billions of lives could be spared if you surrendered to the Dominion from the start, but oh no, the mighty Federation always has to charge in shouting death or glory! Well, unlike you, we Cardassians didn't have the option for death or glory, because _your_ friends the Klingons had already given us too much death and too little glory!'

'So instead you gamble with those billions of lives in order to get one over on everybody else? How is that any better?'

'Because clever gambling often pays. You lose a little here and there, but you win a lot more in the long run. I took a gamble, and had it not been for a few unfortunate actions by certain parties,' here he very deliberately didn't look at Kira and she very deliberately bit down on her angry retort, 'it would have worked like a charm. Need I remind you that, had I not given you an opening with that coded message, you'd still be knee-deep in Jem'Hadar?'

'Excuse my lack of gratitude,' Sisko bit out, 'but I don't extend thanks to murderers. You and your men have killed a great many of my compatriots for the sake of this gamble of yours, and simply returning what was rightfully ours in the first place does not absolve you of that.'

'Excuse me,' Kira interrupted carefully, feeling the tension lash her from both sides, 'but I think DS9 technically belongs to Bajor. Starfleet might be running it, but it's in our space.'

It was a kind of balancing act, one she did not know why she was doing, but she'd stepped out onto the tightrope with the pole in her hands, now she just had to avoid falling.

'And it's a Cardassian station,' Dukat contested. 'It belonged to us before it ever belonged to you; some would argue that when I recaptured it, I was simply reclaiming what was rightfully Cardassia's. Besides, Major Kira, Bajor is neutral in this conflict so its position is largely irrelevant, which is probably the safest position for it.'

'Be that as it may,' Sisko said loudly, 'the Federation is now in control of this station and you, Dukat, are a prisoner of war. As soon as Doctor Bashir signs your medical release form, you'll be transported to the penal facility on Starbase 27 to await trial in front of the war crimes tribunal.'

'I'll make you a deal,' Dukat shot back, now swaying noticeably in his effort to stay standing. Kira noticed his white-knuckle grip on the edge of the bed, concealed from Sisko by the edge of his sleeve. She was amazed he was still on his feet. But his face was set hard, and she knew he wouldn't give up; no Cardassian gave up when they could fight or manipulate their way out. She was strangely glad to see it; it meant he was the same as he'd always been, and that tenacity which she'd so hated was still there. She couldn't deal with it if everything about them changed all at once.

'If you keep me out of jail, I'll help you finish this war for good,' Dukat was saying. 'You need me, Sisko. I have knowledge of the Dominion beyond anything your people have got!'

'No deal, Dukat,' Sisko answered flatly. 'You know why? Because the Federation has rules, and we stick to them; we don't just make it up as we go along. Allowing you to walk free in return for a favour would make me little better than you are. As far as I'm concerned, the sooner you're out of the way, the better it will be for everyone.'

'I'm no worse than you, Sisko! Ask your son!' Dukat croaked as Sisko turned and began to walk away. The captain turned back, and there was fury on his face. Kira knew his honour wouldn't allow him to attack a sick man, but she also knew how much he wanted to. Using your enemy's children against you was a classic Dukat move, and Cardassians didn't pull their punches.

'Leave my son out of this!' Sisko growled. 'After what you did to him, how dare you have the nerve to call him as your witness? I could kill you for that, Dukat!'

'Oh, _now_ the gloves come off! If you want me dead, why did you bother bringing me in here and patching me up in the first place? Another example of the Federation's _nobility_, hmm?'

'Yes. Because in our language, the word for noble and the word for stupid are not the same. The word for justice and the word for vengeance are also not the same.'

'And whose language should we speak, mine or yours?' Dukat snarled hoarsely at Sisko's retreating figure as the captain walked rapidly out of the room. Sisko did not turn back. Dukat turned to Kira.

'Well, that could have gone better,' he panted. His face was bluish and he had one hand clamped over his ribs where the disruptor had hit him, but he was still just about standing, and his tight-clenched jaw was defiant. 'Still, I managed to put his nose out of joint, so it wasn't entirely wasted.'

'You look like shit,' she told him bluntly. 'Sit down before you pass out, I don't want Bashir running in here and accusing me of murdering you or something.'

He sank back onto the bed with a groan, then looked up at her intently for a minute. Alarm bells rang in her head as he met her eyes, curious, surprised, something gentle about him.

'Murdering me would never have bothered you before. Why the sudden change?'

Her mouth filled with dust. She couldn't speak. He reached out a hand and took hers, his skin cool and dry against her clammy palm, and she didn't resist. She felt the pulse in his wrist beating next to her own pulse, beating in quick, jumpy unison, and she inhaled the scent that was peculiar to him, finding its familiar foreignness oddly comforting. She looked at their joined hands, grey and tan, skin and scales, and thought of betrayal and dishonour and violence and hands around her waist and a bruised shoulder and a body knocking her out the way of a blazing green bolt and the girl who was both of them, who knew, who had known all along. Cause and effect. Flint and steel. Sparks.

'Say it, Nerys,' he said softly. 'Let me hear you say it, just once. Listen to the yes.'

She wrenched her hand out of his, turned on her heel and ran, the tears stinging her eyes.


	20. Part 20: For I Am Captured One More Time

**A/N: **OK, I lied, I couldn't fit the rest of the story in this one chapter without it being hugely, epically long (and driving me mad trying to tie it all up) so there'll be one more after this one.

**A/N Supplemental:**Sometime in the near future, there will be a continuation/sequel/part 2 of this story. Details to follow in next chapter. I have a title, a plot bunny the size of the Were-Rabbit and absolutely no spare time to write in the next few months, but it's going to happen at some point.

**CAUTION: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MATERIAL OF A SOMEWHAT SENSITIVE AND ADULT NATURE. **It should probably be rated R, but I couldn't figure out how to change it. I've tried to keep it within the bounds of decency, but don't say I didn't warn you. Eek, I've never posted anything like this before, I feel a bit nervous...

**PART 20: FOR I AM CAPTURED ONE MORE TIME**

_**Oh the towers of ivory are crumbling**_

_**And the swallows have sharpened their beaks**_

_**This is the time of great undoing**_

_**This is the time that I'll come running**_

_**Straight to you, for I am captured**_

_**One more time**_

– _**Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds**_

Kira did not visit the infirmary again after that; she worked herself to the bone getting the station operational again, putting in more hours than anyone except maybe O'Brien and falling into bed exhausted every night, too tired and sore to think. She knew Dukat was getting better, because she overheard Bashir telling Sisko they'd moved him out of the infirmary to a "secure location," for his own protection as much as everybody else's, in case anyone fancied themselves a vigilante. She didn't know where he was. She didn't want to find out where he was. She avoided Ziyal, which was horrible but necessary, and she swiftly closed down all of Jadzia's attempts to draw her in conversation on the subject. She couldn't talk about it. She couldn't think about it. But after a few days, she needed someone who'd been there, someone who understood. Someone who needed someone. She'd left it long enough and it was time now.

So she jimmied her way into Odo's quarters, not even bothering to press the bell because she knew he wouldn't answer. He sat there on the unmade bed, staring vacantly out the window. He looked oddly creased, like a sheet of paper that has become dog-eared in someone's hands, and his crystal eyes had faint lines around them, lines which looked scored into his smooth surface. He didn't look round as she approached, sat down behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder very lightly.

'Odo, we need to talk.'

'I tried so hard to make her see,' he said flatly. 'But she couldn't.'

'Or she wouldn't.'

'Or that, yes.'

He didn't sound convinced. Kira looked at the rumpled sheets, wondering if that dent in the mattress was the shape of two humanoid figures, or if it was just a trick of the light.

'Part of you loved her,' she said.

'Yes. Part of me.'

His voice was bleak and toneless, scoured of any recognisable emotion; all that was in his eyes as he turned to face her for the first time.

'I had to choose, Nerys. I wanted both, and I couldn't have it. I'm sorry it took me so long to realise. You understand, don't you?'

More than you will ever know, Odo, she thought sadly as she nodded, finding herself having to look away from his gaze. She knew what was in those eyes, and it could never be. She knew what choice he'd made, what he'd turned his back on. For her. Just like Dukat. Why did they have to do these things in her name? One who was far too close, and one who would never be close enough.

'Come back to us, Odo. Weyoun's still out there and this war's far from over; if there's ever been a time this station needs a good security chief, it's now.'

She knew not to push him, and she knew she wasn't offering enough, but he'd take it all the same. He took every scrap she dropped for him, and he gave her back so much it was frightening. And he knew it wasn't enough, but he never demanded more. Just accepted: patient, expressionless, always slightly alien, however well she knew him. And she saw how he stiffened at the mention of Weyoun's name.

'You're right. I expect the place has turned into a complete hive of larceny while I've been gone.'

The last bit was almost his familiar grumble, and she grinned to hear it. That was the Odo she knew and trusted and loved like family; the Odo she sat and laughed with when they read the crime reports, the Odo who stood shoulder to shoulder with her during fights, the Odo who she ganged up on Quark with, the Odo who always backed her up in an argument, even when she was wrong. He looked at her with a strange, cool light in his eyes, the eyes of someone who has lost a lot. A cool light that was him knowing that in wartime, personal isn't the same as important, and knowing that he'd been forever beaten to the punch – the uneasy balance that had been forever tipped by a speeding green bolt and a poor decision and a failure to realise and something that felt like inevitability. She stopped smiling. He would never be the old Odo again, precisely because he knew personal isn't the same as important, even though sometimes it should be.

'He's still alive, isn't he?' Odo asked. She nodded. He sighed, and said nothing; they simply sat there in silence for a minute or two, the gulf between them closed in some ways and wider than ever in others. It would be easier when Dukat was gone. The air would be clear, and she could start again. Perhaps, even, _they_ could start again – could there be a they? Did she want a they? Would it make things easier, or would it just hurt him even more?

'Odo, I – ' she began in a rush, but he shook his head, heavily, knowingly.

'Don't, Nerys. I understand. Somehow, I've always understood, even when you hated him.'

'I still hate him,' she muttered fiercely to distract herself from the pained look on Odo's face. He stood up and began to smooth out the bed, not looking at her. She bit her lip and turned to go.

'It's best if I have something to do,' he said, voice even gruffer than usual, 'so I'll be back at work in the morning. As you said, Weyoun's still on the loose, and I know we're going to have trouble with the Cardassians again before too long. You'll need me around.'

'Want me to come over for breakfast with the crime reports?' she asked in the doorway, attempting to lighten the mood, to regain an entrance to their former easy camaraderie. It almost worked; the corner of his mouth twitched dryly, but his eyes were still too liquid and his expression was all wrong. It was pouring salt in the wound, and she wished she hadn't said it.

'No, I don't think either of us will have the time. I doubt they'll make very interesting reading anyway. I'll see you soon, Major. Tell the captain I'll be reporting to him first thing in the morning.'

The man who loved her so much that he'd destroyed an entire civilisation for her, reduced by his own shame to using her title – it made her wince. She looked at him once more over her shoulder as she walked away, before the door swished shut; tall, straight, so very alone as he stood by the eye-shaped window. So very different. Maybe it would get easier, given a bit of time and space. It certainly couldn't get much harder.

The transport that was to take Dukat to the starbase was due to arrive at 0400 the next day. Kira ignored the chronometer which counted down the hours. She couldn't waver. He'd be gone, she'd be free, just a few more hours. It didn't stop her looking towards the door every few minutes, or aimlessly searching the station's security cameras for a room with two guards outside it. It was no use. He was going.

'Odo to Kira,' said the comm as she ate dinner listlessly at her station in Ops, barely tasting it. She sighed and hit her communicator.

'Go ahead.'

'Meet me on the habitation ring, section 4, corridor H. There's something here I want to show you.'

Mystified, she closed down her workstation, dumped the accumulation of empty mugs and plates back in the replicator, and went down to where Odo was waiting for her – a nondescript stretch of living quarters for junior officers with no family, many of which were disused. Two yellow Starfleet uniforms stood outside the last door on the right, and Odo walked forward to meet her.

'You have until 0400. Sort it out.'

Suddenly realising what he was doing and who was behind that door, she panicked and tried to move past him, back to the turbolift. She couldn't do this. She mustn't do this.

'Nerys, you have to do this. For my sake as much as yours. If I can't have you, I at least want you to understand why he can.'

'Odo, wait, I can't –'

He was already shoving her towards the door, which one of the uniforms opened for her; she stumbled in, only to find that it had swished shut already. It was dark inside, but she could see where he was; perched on the end of the bed by the window, watching the stars, the thin blanket wrapped around him like a cloak against the chilly, stale air.

'Is it time already?' he asked tonelessly as she crossed the room towards him.

'It's time,' she told him, hearing his surprise as much as seeing it as his head whipped round and he saw her, the delight on his face mixed with something indefinably sad. She sat down next to him, their shoulders not quite touching. It was time.

'It's time that I...' she faltered. Time she what? She tried again. 'Time that we...'

He stopped her with a long, cool finger against her lips, just for a second, then withdrew it like he was afraid.

'You said _we. _You finally understand that it is we, not simply you and I.'

His voice was quiet and flat, as if he didn't quite believe the words he was saying. She shrugged.

'I understand that our lives are tied together for better or worse and there's no way out of it, so we may as well make sure it's for better rather than worse. I think we've both had enough of worse.'

'That's all I want. All these years, Nerys, that's all I've ever wanted.'

He turned his head away for a moment, perhaps in shame, and she turned it back with her hand.

'Take it, then. We don't have long.'

His eyes were glassy as he reached out and touched her hand, where it rested on his face, but he didn't say anything. It was like he was lost for words. Again she felt his pulse against hers, where their hands touched, and she could hardly breathe. Again she traced the half-circle of ridge around his left eye, looking at him, vulnerable, as unsure of himself as she'd ever seen him. She'd never thought a Cardassian could be beautiful – never admitted that they could be – but now, as she looked at the angles and planes of his face that she knew so well, she found the admission came naturally as breathing. It was a betrayal of everything she thought made her Bajoran, and it was so easy. So painless. So like relief, as his other arm snaked around her waist and he lowered his head, unsmiling, eyes wide open at hers. All her life she'd tried to get away, and never once imagined turning around and running into him instead. So delicately balanced, the flint and the steel, such a careful, wary circuit of anger and spite and curiosity they danced around each other for so many years with the sparks flying every time they struck and bounced off, never once wondering what would happen if they struck harder, deliberately, setting a collision course.

We will do great things together, you and I.

'Nerys,' he began, clumsily, haltingly, but she shook her head and stopped his mouth with hers. Cool and bittersweet, surprisingly soft. So very gentle as his hand cupped the back of her head, fingers in her hair. Something surged in her like a breaking wave, like listening to the yes, like flying sparks as she felt a sigh catch in his throat, and she kissed him harder, pressed herself closer – now they had a new dance, a new fight; she grabbed his neck-ridges, he raked his fingers down her back, and they fell in a tangle on the rock-hard bed, her pinning him down as she bit his neck and his arms crushed her closer to him, so close that neither of them could breathe. They danced the dance, they fought the fight and the need in her was building into a roaring fire, making her half delirious with the taste of him, the feel of his skin and the weight of his body as he rolled her over to lie underneath him, the wild exulting flutter of his heart against hers as they clung to each other desperately like they were drowning. They were both out of breath and their clothes were scattered all over the room when he hesitated, pushing himself up on shaking arms, and studied her face urgently. His hair was a tangled black nest and his skin shone bluish in the gloom, the long ugly scar across his ribcage a darker grey like thunderclouds.

'Nerys, I – '

'Shut up,' she said fiercely, pulling him back down and finding his mouth again, hearing her own groan and his as he finally pushed inside her, all at once, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Her legs wrapped around him, his arms pressing her down and the slick-sticky slide across each other like liquid fire, old as time, as common and as rare as life. The dance of moans and gasps and skin and heat and the collision of his hips with hers, over and over, harder, faster, eyes screwed shut in pleasure that was almost pain, until they both fell over the edge and flew, shaking, burning, stifling each other's cries with their mouths. He collapsed over her, panting, and a long moment passed in which they lay entangled, weak and dizzy and trembling with aftershocks. She didn't know where he ended and she began, and she didn't care. She was boiling hot, soaked with sweat, and she never wanted to move again. But eventually their breathing slowed, the mad tribal stomp of their heartbeats calmed, and he rolled off her, sitting up and dragging his hands through his untidy hair. He hadn't said a word; she'd expected at least a glib comment or two, but he was silent, turned half-away from her, pale and silvery in the room lit only by starlight. She reached out and ran her finger carefully down the long spinal ridge, wondering at the strength and flex of it. He sighed and fumbled for his trousers on the floor, then retrieved the blanket from the corner into which it had been flung, draping it carefully over her.

'Don't get cold,' was all he said as he went to stand by the window, staring out, more remote from her than he'd ever been when they were enemies. She wondered what she'd done. What _they'd_ done. She got off the bed and went to stand next to him, wrapping the blanket around both of them. He slid his arm around her waist and leaned his head against hers, and they looked out at the stars for a few minutes.

'That one there is Cardassia,' he told her, pointing at the brightest of the near points of light.

'Trust you to know that,' she scoffed, but there was no anger in it, only a dry, grudging fondness. Then she saw his expression, and wished she hadn't spoken.

'You might see it again,' she said, trying to soften the blow. He shook his head.

'No. Cardassia and I, we're better off without each other, at least until things change. I spent too many years trying to deny it, but I know better now. Besides, I'd be shot as soon as I stepped off the shuttle if I tried to go back after what happened up here.'

He'd turned his back on everything for her, just as Odo had. Which meant he'd had a lot riding on the assumption that she'd accept, that she'd understand. It almost made her angry – almost, but not quite, because it wasn't an assumption, exactly. It was as close as a Cardassian got to a leap of faith.

'Was it easy to choose?'

'Yes,' he admitted without shame, and pulled her closer. She rested her head against his chest, seeing the outline of the scar the disruptor had made as he shifted slightly. She ran her hand across it; he winced, but didn't stop her.

'Was it worth it?'

'Ask me again when I've spent a year in a Federation jail; right now I might be a little biased,' he quipped gently, his hands stroking her sides, but she didn't smile. She squeezed her eyes shut to get rid of the tears that threatened to fall, and hid her face in his shoulder, trying to disappear inside the heady, bitter-sweet smell of him and the feel of cool scales under her fingers as she traced the ridge down his back again. She needed more time, and she couldn't have it. She needed more time in which to forget that the hands holding her had once killed her people, that the voice that murmured snatches of Kardasi that didn't translate but the tone of them was the same the universe over – love and sorrow, desire and remorse and need, a complicated relationship between two people against an even more complicated backdrop of war and planets and politics and years – that the voice was the same one she'd hated so much every day as a child. She needed more time in which to remember she'd killed his people too. More time in which to learn, and to teach, and to try to start again. Some start, she thought bitterly, digging her nails into his back in her agitation and feeling him flinch.

'Hey, what was that? Payback for something?' he asked, stilling her twisting hands between his own. She pulled away, turning her back to him as she suddenly found it all unbearable. He didn't let go.

'Nerys, I know this isn't going to be easy,' he said with his face in the back of her neck. She stopped fighting and let herself lean back against him, all boneless. No more fighting. No more running.

'When has it ever been easy?' she muttered. He shushed her like it had upset him.

'Oh, let's not talk about this any more. Come to bed. I want something to remember when I'm alone in a cell a long way from here.'

He said it lightly and she went with him, and what was rushed and desperate became slow and gentle and tender, but as she lay awake, curled next to him while he slept – so quietly, so still, so innocent now those eyes were shuttered away behind their grey blinds – she knew that she could never go back from here.


	21. Part 21: Unfinished Business

**A/N: **I have to say, I was expecting more of a response from the last chapter. Maybe I've shocked and appalled you into silence. Oh, say it ain't so...

**A/N Supplemental:**This is it. Last one. I hope somebody out there has enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. As always, do let me know your thoughts.

**PART 21: UNFINISHED BUSINESS**

_**There's blood on your hands**_

_**And I know it's mine**_

_**But I just need more time**_

– _**White Lies**_

Kira snapped awake at 0330, relying on her Resistance-learned ability to alarm her own body clock, and remembered. She had allowed herself to forget for a few short hours, wrapped in the long lean curve of sleeping Cardassian, that the other occupant of this punitively hard bed was an interstellar war criminal. She had forgotten how much of a betrayal it was to have his arm curled around her and his bony knees pressing into the backs of her legs and the mingle of their hair on the pillow, coppery silk and blue-black wire. They must not get caught like this. No-one could ever know. No one could know what he looked like all silent and serene, the angles and hollows of his face smoothed by sleep and one grey hand lying relaxed on the sheet next to hers. That was hers alone. A secret she could keep, a memory that wasn't seared into the Bajoran public consciousness by years of horror – just him and her in this one room on this one night. She shouldn't want it and she shouldn't have it, but it was too late for that. As she sat up, cursing the coldness of the air on her exposed skin, he mumbled in protest and groped blindly for her hand. She shook him off.

'Stop that, I have to go.'

'No you don't,' he said indistinctly. 'Don't leave yet.'

She looked down at the muddled heap of their clothing on the floor, his severe blacks and greys mixed with the soft pinks and browns of her own, her boots looking childishly small compared to his. There was something both sordid and touching about it which made her want, inexplicably, to cry; she shook her head fiercely and began to get dressed, hating the itchy, crumpled feel of yesterday's clothes next to her skin.

'You regret this, don't you?' Dukat asked her, leaning up on one elbow and dragging the covers around him, eyes still half-closed and voice husky from sleep. She shrugged. Part of her did, certainly. Part of her was disgusted that she'd given into him, or rather given into her own feelings about him despite all the things he'd done over the years. But another part – a less rational and more insistent part – wanted to crawl back into his arms and pull the covers over both their heads and stay there forever, blocking out the rest of the world in which she was a freedom fighter and he was a warlord, in which he was one side of the coin and he was the other, never the twain shall meet. She stood up quickly and crossed the room, turning her back on him and looking out at the stars, those same stars that had bathed their skins in silver last night, making the dreary little room beautiful – how small and pale and unforgiving they seemed now, in the cold light of morning when she was short of sleep and heavy of heart.

'Nerys?'

She didn't answer him. She didn't trust herself to speak. She didn't move as he came up behind her and held her too tightly. Even now, she didn't want him to know that this last half-hour felt far too much like the end of the world. Yes, she regretted what they'd done. She regretted ever feeling anything for him but hate. Hate was easy. Hate wouldn't miss him, hate wouldn't feel kicked in the teeth as she stood there and watched the shuttle leave, getting smaller and smaller, disappearing into those pale unforgiving stars. Hate wouldn't think about what he looked like asleep, vulnerable, curled up around her. No. She hated the things he'd done, but she could no longer hate the man he was. She let him hold her, allowing herself to enjoy it for a moment or two.

'I don't regret it for what it was,' she told him. 'But it hasn't made things any less complicated.'

'Do you remember when you said as long as I was in your life, you'd never have any peace?'

'Yeah, I remember that.'

'Is it still true now?'

He'd seen through her again; she did feel a strange, melancholy kind of peace standing with him like this in a cold room at an ungodly hour of the morning, knowing that it was the last time. The kind of peace a dying man feels when he accepts there is nothing more he can do, no more fighting, no more running, no more praying and cursing and trying to escape his fate.

'I don't know,' she said softly, unwilling to the last. The more she gave, the more it would hurt. He sighed, a gentle movement of his chest against her back, then he let her go. The air between them stiffened at once as she felt him snap his mask back on along with his clothes, the mask he wore like a shield, the mask she'd thought was his real face for so many years. Not a moment too soon, either; the door opened and two security personnel came in.

'Right, you, time to – oh, uh, good morning, Major,' stammered one, evidently surprised to find her here. She saw his eyes flick to the rumpled bed, the unmistakeable evidence of what had happened. She bit her lip and said nothing as the two of them approached Dukat, each taking one of his arms.

'There's no need for that, I'll come quietly,' he snapped, shaking them off. And he did; no mad dash for the door, no slinking or cowering or trudging along, either, but walking tall and straight and thin in only trousers and undershirt, without his armour. Kira walked behind them, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, left right left right, so she didn't have to think. The sight of Sisko and Odo by the airlock door tugged on heartstrings that were already stretched almost to breaking point. They could probably guess, but they'd never understand – well, Sisko never would, but Odo already did and that was almost worse. The shuttle was docked and waiting, two more Starfleet personnel standing either side of the access hatch with phasers in hand. Harsh yellow lights from inside the little ship pooled on the floor of the docking bay like home's open door gone wrong.

'The prisoner is ready for transport, sir,' one of the uniforms told Sisko.

'No he's not,' Kira interrupted, surprising even herself. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before. Sisko frowned at her.

'And why would that be, Major?'

'What about Ziyal?'

'No, I don't want her to see this,' Dukat interjected. 'Just get it over with. Major, I trust you to take good care of her while I'm gone.'

_I trust you._ There it was, for everyone to hear. As if it wasn't obvious enough already. Odo didn't react, but she could tell that he'd heard and it had cut him to the quick. He knew.

'I will,' she managed. Dukat looked at her then, full force, blue eyes meeting brown. She had to resist the urge to go to him, to do something, anything but see him walk onto that shuttle and out of sight. He was trying to tell her something. She couldn't ask, he couldn't speak, but it was there.

'You make it sound like you'll be coming back, Dukat,' Sisko said dryly. Dukat shrugged, and there was that grin of his, that confident, tricksy grin that told you he had both sleeves full of aces. Kira let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

'Who can say?' he answered with a shrug. 'Maybe your superiors at Starfleet Command will realise what you didn't, Sisko. I could have been very useful to you.'

Sisko didn't answer, just held out his hand for the prisoner transfer padd and stamped his thumb on the authorisation mark. The two uniforms from the ship stepped forwards and escorted Dukat up the ramp into the waiting vessel. At the top he turned and looked right at Kira.

'Take care... Iliana.'

As she stood there, open-mouthed, the door hissed shut and the ship eased out of the dock into the waiting stars.

**END TRANSMISSION.**

**Haha, not quite... those of you who paid attention to the last line will infer that a sequel is coming soon. Look out for it.**


End file.
